John  Butler  Yeats 
on  His  Son  and 
on  Various  Matters 


BY  BURTON  RASCOE. 
//\  TOU  will  find  him  every  eve- 
W  ning  at  the  little  French 
restaurant  of  the  Miles.  Petit- 
•^  pas  in  West  Twenty-ninth 
street,"  a  friend  had  told  me  In 
New  York,  and  at  8:30  I  was  await- 
Ing  the  answer  to  my  ring  at  th» 
puzzling  iron  grating  beneath  the  high 
stoop  of  an  old  residence  which  is 
architecturally  identical  with  the  rows 
of  others  on  each  side  of  the  street. 
One  of  the  mesdemoiselles,  an  anomaly 
to  the  eyesight  by  reason  of  her  ging- 
ham dress  with  leg  of  mutton  sleeves* 
and  her  exaggerated  pompadour  of  the 
period  of  the  early  Charles  Dana  Gib- 
son, unlocked  the  gate  and  with  a 
friendly  greeting  ushered  me  to  a  table. 

Here  and  there  were  French  sailors 
in  their  blue  uniforms,  piped  with 
white,  and  colorful  further  in  splotches 
of  red,  I  don't  recall  exactly  where — 
pom-poms,  I  remember,  on  their  small 
blue  tarns  and  another  dab  of  red  j 
somewhere  about  their  blouses.  A  j 
French  officer  or  ao,  a  veteran  poilu 
with  the  Croix  de  Guerre  here  to  aid 
in  the  Fourth  Liberty  loan,  and  the 
rest,  for  the  most  part  middle  aged 
civilians — not  the  Brevoort  crowd,  or 
that  of  the  Village  sinkholes,  or  of  the 
Plaza,  Jack's,  Child's,  or  Keane's.  And 
there  in  a  far  corner,  surrounded  by 
his  evening  audience,  the  white  beard- 
ed old  gentleman  I  had  come  to  see. 

At   demitasse  and  cognac   I  sent  a 
note  asking  a  few  minutes  in  conversa- 
tion.    While   I   was   thinking   what   I 
should    ask    John    Butler    Yeats,    the 
1  father  of  William   Butler   Yeats,   and 
!  himself    a    portrait    painter    and    the 
'  author   of   a   series   of   letters    to    his 
son    which    had    piqued    my    cariosity 
about    the    man,    he    arose    from    his 
;  table,    looked   around    the    room,    and 
t    I    stood   up,    came    over    to   me 
j  smiling  pleasantly. 


"  They  are  out  of  print,"  he  told  me 
when  I  asked  him  about  his  published 
correspondence.  "  The  London  cata- 
logues quote  them  at  $15  apiece  now. 
I  have  been  unable  to  get  any  of- them. 
Haven't  a  copy  myself.  When  my  son 
left  here  to  return  to  Dublin  he  told 
me  to  write  him  anything  that  came 
into  my  head.  I  wrote  him  off  and  on, 
just  anything  I  happened  to  be  think- 
ing about.  And  then  one  day  Ezra 
Pound  selected  a  number  of  them  for 
publication  by  my  daughters. 

"One  might  get  the  impression  from 
those  letters,"  he  continued,  "  that  I 
know  all  about  all  the  arts  and  litera- 
tures that  ever  existed.  But  I  don't 
at  all.  I  had  a  pontifical  air  in 
them  as  though  I  were  speaking  ex 
cathedra  with  a  profound  knowledge 
of  Greek  and'  Latin,  but  I  really  know 
very  little  about  either.  You  see,  I 
could  do  that  because  I  had  no  notion 
that  the  letters  would  ever  be  printed. 
My  son  wasn't  being  flimflammed  by 
my  pretensions  and  my  oracular  man- 
ner, but  those  who  don't  know  my 
actual  limitations  might  be.  My  son 
knew  Just  what  I  had  read  and  what 
I  hadn't,  just  how  much  I  knew  and 
how  much  I  didn't,  so  he  could  discount 
here  and  there  and  arrive  at  their 
actual  value. 

"But  the  letters  are  better  than  my 
essays,  which  the  Macmillans  are  going 
to  publish  in  this  country  shortly, 
had  to  be*careful  in  the  essays,  so  I 
wouldn't  be  caught  up.  I  spoke  only  of 
subjects  I  was  acquainted  with.  But 
when  you  are  confined-  like  that  and 
-  un't  be  expansive  and  pretentious,  as 
I  can  be  to  my  son,  you  lose  something. 
No,  the  essays  aren't  quite  as  good  as 
the  letters,  but  they  more  accurately 
reflect  what  I  actually  know. 

I  found  it  wasn't  necessary  'to  ask 
questions. 

"  Did  you  see  my  son's  poem  in 
memory  of  Robert  Gregory  printed  in 
the  Little  Review?  (I  had.)  It  is  a 
beautiful  thing,  isn't  it?  (It  is).  My 
son,  I  think,  is  the  only  real  poet  left. 
This  is  the  great  critical  age.  All  the 
high  creative  intellects  are  going  into 
criticism  of  one  form  or  another.  The 
poets,  the  creators  of  pure  beauty,  are 
out  of  date. 

"  People  ask  me  why  my  son  doesn't 
write  about  the  war,  and  I  answer  that 
it  is  impossible  for  him.  The  war  is 
too  big;  he  can't  grasp  it;  It  is  foreign 
to  him,  entirely  out  of  his  experience 
or  imagination.  A  man  can  write 
only  what  he  is  fit  to  write,  what  he 
feels,  what  is  in  him. 


!fc 
be 

n 

sc 
ck 

N 
a* 
T! 


"Pound's  a  great  fellow.  Got  a  lot 
in  him.  I  don't  like  his  Insulting  peo- 
ple and  his  insolence  and  his  bombas- 
tic tricks;  but  I  suppose  he  has  to  do 
that  to  attract  attention.  He  would 
be  lost  if  he  weren't  vulgar  and  insolent 
and  full  of  braggadocio.  It  ia  neces- 
sary these  days,  I  suppose;  some  of  it 
at  least.  But  beneath  It  all  Pound  is 
a  clever  fellow,  a  good  critic.  He 
hasn't  any  creative  genius,  and  he's 
not  much  of  a  poet.  All  his  talent  is 
critical.  And  this  is  a  critical  age." 

The  elder  Yeats  paints  an  occasional 
portrait — "  to  keep  me  in  bread  and 
cheese,"  he  said,  and  discourses  on  art 
and  life  every  evening  to  a  little  gath- 
ering of  students  and  friends  at  the 
far  corner  table  of  the  restaurant  of 
the  Miles.  Petitpas. 


WILLIAM    B     VKATS 


-uiauia.i    | 


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B.V 


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PUB     e. 
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0}      IKJU'JLU      0 

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PUT?  6}T).i.x    UK 

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-saqojo   eqj    o^ 
G}jnb  aq   ;OB  at 
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uno   Aq  aXa  a 
nui    uqj    ui 
•sniu  aui 


qsj. 


J.     PUB    t* 

uto. 
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(f    POIUOLUIUOD 

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T    J9AO 


3A"  pajpunq  ie 
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o>   o3   pinoqs   JOUu.^ 
oq     }nq     'junpisa.ia  '  "" 

I      UOA[i*  1  ' 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS 

OF 

WILLIAM  B.  YEATS 

IN  TWO   VOLUMES 


THE  LIBRARY 

TY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 
DRAMATIC    POEMS 


NEW  AND  REVISED  EDITION 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 


1917 

All  rights  reserved 


Blarneying-. 


To  TKH  EDITOR  or  THE  EVENING  I 
SIR:    Your  remarks  on  "Irish  An 
ties"    recall    a      pleasant      oi 
quoted   approvingly   by   Dean 
one   of   his  letters   to  Thomn 
"that    if    the    people    of    Ireland    . 
be  believed  in   what    they  said  of 
other,  there  was  not  an  hone 
e  kingdom." 

Iv    14. 


COPTBIOHT,  1907  AND  1912, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  •.  ,/  and  electrotyped.  Published  September,  1907.  Reprinted 
June,  509;  August,  1911.  New  Edition,  August,  1912  ;  February, 
1914;  September,  1916  ;  October,  1917. 


.-Hi  hall 

ing  myths 

.KS   when   all 

ds      .  .  om    them,    passing 

huttle  to   .  ,1^   fro,   weaving  indus- 

-Jy,  Lady  Gregory  standing  by.'dis- 

in   hand."—  George   Moore     in   "  A 

J-y-Teller's  Holiday." 


Xoriunoti 
J.  S.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  <fc  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


Anne* 


PREFACE 

THE  first  two  plays  in  this  book  were 
written  before  I  had  any  adequate  knowl- 
edge of  the  stage,  but  all  were  written  to 
be  played.  I  have  always  looked  upon  the 
play  written  to  be  read  only  as  an  imperfect 
form,  even  for  the  reader  who  would  find  it 
the  more  exciting  for  the  vigorous  structure, 
the  working  to  a  climax,  that  had  made  it 
hold  some  fitting  audience. 

A  writer  of  drama  must  observe  the  form 
as  carefully  as  if  it  were  a  sonnet,  but  he 
must  always  deny  that  there  is  any  subject- 
matter  which  is  in  itself  dramatic  —  any 
especial  round  of  emotion  fitted  to  the  stage, 
or  that  a  play  has  no  need  to  await  its  audi- 
ence or  to  create  the  interest  it  lives  by. 
Dramatic  art  is  a  method  of  expression,  and 
neither  an  hair-breadth  escape  nor  a  love 
affair  more  befits  it  than  the  passionate  ex- 
position of  the  most  delicate  and  strange 
intuitions;  and  the  dramatist  is  as  free  as 


vi  PREFACE 

the  painter  of  good  pictures  and  the  writer 
of  good  books.  All  art  is  passionate,  but 
a  flame  is  not  the  less  flame  because  we 
change  the  candle  for  a  lamp  or  the  lamp  for 
a  fire ;  and  all  flame  is  beautiful. 

A  lover  is  subtle  about  his  mistress's  eye- 
brow, and  I  have  found  in  Dublin  a  small 
audience  so  much  interested  in  Ireland  that 
they  have  not  complained  too  loudly  that  my 
fellow-dramatists  at  the  Abbey  Theatre  or 
I  myself  write  of  difficult  and  unfamiliar 
things.  I  have  chosen  all  of  my  themes  from 
Irish  legend  or  Irish  history,  and  my  friends 
have  made  joyous,  extravagant,  and,  as  I 
am  certain,  distinguished  comedy  out  of  the 
common  life  of  the  villages,  or  out  of  a 
phantasy  trained  by  the  contemplation  of 
that  life  and  of  the  tales  told  by  its  firesides. 
This  theatre  cannot  but  be  the  more  inter- 
esting to  people  of  other  races  because  it  is 
Irish  and,  therefore,  to  some  extent,  stirred 
by  emotions  and  thoughts  not  hitherto  ex- 
pressed in  dramatic  form,  for  the  arts  have 


PREFACE  vii 

always  gained  by  their  limitations,  and  I 
look  forward  to  a  day  when  a  company  will 
carry  its  plays  into  other  lands,  —  above  all, 
where  there  are  Irish  people, — and  when 
I  close  my  eyes  I  can  see  all  clearly.  It 
will  play  principally  comedy,  for  the  day 
of  tragedy  will  return  slowly,  but  of  an 
extravagant,  abounding  kind  that  is  half 
poetry;  the  inspiration  of  a  muse  that, 
although  she  is  a  little  drunken,  her  lips 
still  wet  from  the  overflowing  cup  of  life,  is 
ready,  as  in  old  days,  to  abate  her  voice 
when  her  sister  carrying  a  taper  among 
the  tombs  would  tell  strange  stories  of 
the  deaths  of  kings.  Above  all,  for  one 
imagines  as  one  pleases  when  the  eyes 
are  closed,  it  will  be  a  theatre  of  speech; 
the  speech  of  the  country-side,  the  elo- 
quence of  poets,  of  rhythm,  of  style,  of 
proud,  living,  unwasted  words,  and  among 
its  players  there  may  be  some  who  can 
sing  like  a  poet  of  Languedoc  stories  and 
songs  where  the  music  shall  be  as  simple 


viii  PREFACE 

as  in  a  sailor's  chanty,  for  I  would  restore 
the  whole  ancient  art  of  passionate  speech, 
and  would  no  more  let  a  singer  spoil  a  word 
or  the  poet's  rhythm  for  the  musician's  sake 
than  I  would  let  an  actor  who,  as  Colley 
Gibber  said,  "  should  be  tied  to  time  and 
tune  like  a  singer,"  spoil  the  poet's  rhythm 
that  he  might  give  to  a  word  what  seemed 
to  him  a  greater  weight  of  drama.  The 
labour  of  two  players,  Miss  Florence  Farr 
and  Mr.  Frank  Fay,  have  done  enough  to 
show  that  all  is  possible,  if  the  summer  be 
lucky  and  the  corn  ripen. 

December,  1906. 

Since  I  wrote  these  words  I  have  in  the 
light  of  what  is  now  a  considerable  dramatic 
experience  greatly  altered  "The  Land  of 
Heart's  Desire,"  and  so  greatly  altered  "The 
Countess  Cathleen  "  that  it  is  all  but  a  new 
play.  Both  plays  are  now,  like  the  other 
plays  in  the  book,  a  part  of  the  repertory  of 
the  Abbey  Theatre.  -yy^  g  YEATS. 

February,  1912. 


CONTENTS 

MOI 

THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN         ....        1 

THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE        .        .        .  129 

THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 177 

Ox  BAILE'S  STRAND 247 

THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 319 

DEIRDRE 405 

APPENDIX  I 

The  Legendary  and  Mythological  Founda- 
tion of  the  Plays  and  Poems          .        .    479 

APPENDIX  II 

The  Dates  and  Places  of  Performance  of  the 

Plays 482 

APPENDIX  III 

Acting  Version  of  The  Shadowy  Waters     .    498 

APPENDIX  IV 

The  Work  of  the  National  Theatre  Society 
at  the  Abbey  Theatre,  Dublin  :  A  State- 
ment of  Principles          ....     522 
iz 


THE   COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 


The  sorrowful  are  dumb  for  thee  "  — 

Lament  of  MORION  SHJSHONB  for  Miss  MART  BOURKB 


To  MAUD  GONNB 


SHEMUS  RTJA,      .         .        .  vaaav*. 

MARY,    ...... 

"TBIG,      ...... 

ALEIL.  ...  nfL. 

THE  COUNTESS  CATH1 

A,  .     |  iBBiii 

TWO  DEMONS  disguised  as  MERCHANTS. 
PEASANTS,    SERVANTS,   ANGELICAL  BEINGS, 
SPIRITS. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  Ireland,  and  in  old  times. 


SCENE  I 


SCENE.  A  room  with  lighted  fire,  and  a 
door  into  the  open  air,  through  which  one 
sees,  perhaps,  the  trees  of  a  wood,  and  these 
trees  should  be  painted  in  flat  colour  upon  a 
gold  or  diapered  sky.  The  walls  are  of  one 
colour.  The  scene  should  have  the  effect  of 
missal  painting.  MARY,  a  woman  of  forty 
years  or  so,  is  grinding  a  quern. 

MARY.  What  can  have  made  the  grey  hen 
flutter  so  ? 

[TEIG,  a  boy  of  fourteen,  is  coming  in  with 

turf,  which  he  lays  beside  the  hearth. 
1 


8  THE   COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

TEIG.  They    say   that    now   the   land   is 

famine  struck, 
The  graves  are  walking. 
MARY.    There  is  something  that  the  hen 

hears. 
TEIG.  And   that    is   not   the    worst;     at 

Tubber-vanach 

A  woman  met  a  man  with  ears  spread  out, 
And  they  moved  up  and  down  like  a  bat's 

wing. 
MARY.  What  can  have  kept  your  father 

all  this  while? 
TEIG.  Two    nights    ago    at    Carrick-orus 

churchyard, 

A  herdsman  met  a  man  who  had  no  mouth, 
Nor  eyes,  nor  ears ;  his  face  a  wall  of  flesh ; 
He  saw  him  plainly  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  9 

MARY.   Look  out,  and  tell  me  if  your  father 
's  coming. 

[TEIG  goes  to  the  door.] 
TEIG.  Mother! 
MART.  What  is  it? 

TEIG.  In  the  bush  beyond, 

There  are  two  birds  —  if  you  can  call  them 

birds  — 

I  could  not  see  them  rightly  for  the  leaves. 
But  they've  the  shape  and  colour  of  horned 

owls, 

And  I'm  half  certain  they've  a  human  face. 
MARY.   Mother  of  God,  defend  us  ! 
TEIG.  They're  looking  at  me. 

What  is  the  good  of  praying  ?    father  says. 
God  and  the  Mother  of  God  have  dropped 
asleep. 


10  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

What  do  they   care,   he  says,   though  the 

whole  land 

Squeal  like  a  rabbit  under  a  weasel's  tooth  ? 
MARY.   You'll  bring  misfortune  with  your 

blasphemies 

Upon  your  father,  or  yourself,  or  me. 
I  would  to  God  he  were  home  —  ah,  there  he 

is. 

[SHEMUS  comes  in.] 
What  was  it  kept  you  in  the  wood  ?    You 

know 

I  cannot  get  all  sorts  of  accidents 
Out  of  my  mind  till  you  are  home  again. 
SHEMUS.   I'm  in  no  mood  to  listen  to  your 

clatter. 

Although  I  tramped  the  woods  for  half  a  day, 
I've  taken  nothing,  for  the  very  rats, 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  11 

Badgers,  and  hedgehogs,  seem  to  have  died  of 

drought, 
And  there  was  scarce  a  wind  in  the  parched 

leaves. 

TEIG.  Then  you  have  brought  no  dinner. 
SHEMUS.  After  that 

I  sat  among  the  beggars  at  the  cross-roads, 
And  held  a  hollow  hand  among  the  others. 
MARY.  What,  did  you  beg  ? 
SHEMUS.  I  had  no  chance  to  beg, 

For  when  the  beggars  saw  me  they  cried  out 
They  would  not  have  another  share  their 

alms, 

And  hunted  me  away  with  sticks  and  stones. 
TEIG.  You  said  that  you  would  bring  us 

food  or  money. 
SHEMUS.  What's  in  the  house  ? 


12  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

TEIQ.  A  bit  of  mouldy  bread. 

MARY.  There's  flour  enough  to  make  an- 
other loaf. 

TEIG.  And  when  that's  gone  ? 
MARY.  There  is  the  hen  in  the  coop. 

SHEMUS.   My  curse  upon  the  beggars,  my 

curse  upon  them. 
TEIG.  And  the  last  penny  gone. 
SHEMUS.  When  the  hen's  gone, 

What  can  we  do  but  live  on  sorrel  and  dock, 
And  dandelion,  till  our  mouths  are  green  ? 
MARY.  God,  that  to  this  hour's  found  bit 

and  sup, 
Will  cater  for  us  still. 

SHEMUS.  His  kitchen's  bare. 

There  were  five  doors  that  I  looked  through 
this  day. 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  13 

And  saw  the  dead  and  not  a  soul  to  wake 

them. 
MARY.  Maybe  He'd  have  us  die  because 

He  knows, 
When  the  ear  is  stopped  and  when  the  eye  is 

stopped, 

That  every  wicked  sight  is  hid  from  the  eye, 
And  all  fool  talk  from  the  ear. 

SHEMUS.  Who's  passing  there  ? 

And  mocking  us  with  music  ? 

[A  stringed  instrument  without.] 
TEIG.  A  young  man  plays  it, 

There's  an  old  woman  and  a  lady  with  him. 
SHEMUS.  W^hat  is  the  trouble  of  the  poor 

to  her  ? 

Nothing  at  all  or  a  harsh  radishy  sauce 
For  the  day's  meat. 


14  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

MARY.  God's  pity  on  the  rich. 

Had  we  been  through  as  many  doors,  and 

seen 

The  dishes  standing  on  the  polished  wood 
In  the  wax  candle  light,  we'd  be  as  hard, 
And  there's  the  needle's  eye  at  the  end  of  all. 
SHEMUS.  My  curse  upon  the  rich. 
TEIG.  They're  coming  here. 

SHEMUS.  Then  down  upon  that  stool,  down 

quick,  I  say, 

And  call  up  a  whey  face  and  a  whining  voice, 
And  let  your  head  be  bowed  upon  your  knees. 
MARY.  Had  I  but  time  to  put  the  place  to 
rights. 

[CATHLEEN,  OONA  AND  ALEEL  enter.} 
CATHLEEN.   God  save  all  here.    There  is  a 
certain  house, 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  15 

An  old  grey  castle  with  a  kitchen  garden, 
A  cider  orchard  and  a  plot  for  flowers, 
Somewhere  among  these  woods. 

MARY.  We  know  it,  Lady. 

A  place  that's  set  among  impassable  walls 
As  though  world's  trouble  could  not  find  it 

out. 
CATHLEEN.   It  may  be  that  we  are  that 

trouble,  for  we  — 
Although  we've  wandered  in  the  wood  this 

hour  — 

Have  lost  it  too,  yet  I  should  know  my  way, 
For  I  lived  all  my  childhood  in  that  house. 
MARY.  Then  you  are  Countess  Cathleen  ? 
CATHLEEN.  And  this  woman, 

Oona,  my  nurse,  should  have  remembered  it, 
For  we  were  happy  for  a  long  time  there. 


16  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

OONA.  The    paths    are    overgrown    with 

thickets  now, 
Or  else  some  change   has   come  upon  my 

sight. 
CATHLEEN.  And    this    young    man,  that 

should  have  known  the  woods  — 
Because  we  met  him  on  their  border  but  now, 
Wandering  and  singing  like  a  wave  of  the 

sea  — 
Is  so  wrapped  up  in  dreams  of   terrors  to 

come 
That  he  can  give  no  help. 

MARY.  You  have  still  some  way, 

But  I  can  put  you  on  the  trodden  path 
Your  servants  take  when  they  are  marketing. 
But  first  sit  down  and  rest  yourself  awhile, 
For  my  old  fathers  served  your  fathers,  Lady, 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  17 

Longer  than  books  can  tell  —  and  it  were 

strange 

If  you  and  yours  should  not  be  welcome  here. 
CATHLEEN.   And  it  were  stranger  still  were 

I  ungrateful 

For  such  kind  welcome  —  but  I  must  be  gone, 
For  the  night's  gathering  in. 

SHEMUS.  It  is  a  long  while 

Since  I've  set  eyes  on  bread  or  on  what  buys  it. 

CATHLEEN.   So  you  are  starving  even  in  this 

wood, 
Where  I  had  thought  I  would  find  nothing 

changed. 
But  that's  a  dream,  for  the  old  worm  o'  the 

world 
Can  eat  its  way  into  what  place  it  pleases. 

[She  gives  money. 


VOL.  II.  C 


18  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

TEIG.  Beautiful  lady,  give  me  something 

too; 
I  fell  but  now,  being  weak  with  hunger  and 

thirst, 

And  lay  upon  the  threshold  like  a  log. 
CATHLEEN.   I  gave  for  all  and  that  was  all 

I  had. 

Look,  my  purse  is  empty.  I  have  passed 
By  starving  men  and  women  all  this  day, 
And  they  have  had  the  rest;  but  take  the 

purse, 

The  silver  clasps  on't  may  be  worth  a  trifle. 
But  if  you'll  come  to-morrow  to  my  house 
You  shall  have  twice  the  sum. 

[ALEEL  begins  to  play.] 
SHEMUS   [muttering}.   What,  music,  music ! 
CATHLEEN.  Ah,  do  not  blame  the  finger  on 
the  string ; 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  19 

The  doctors  bid  me  fly  the  unlucky  times 
And  find  distraction  for  my  thoughts,  or  else 
Pine  to  my  grave. 

SHEMUS.  I  have  said  nothing,  lady. 

Why  should  the  like  of  us  complain  ? 

OONA.  Have  done. 

Sorrows  that  she's  but  read  of  in  a  book 
Weigh  on  her  mind  as  if  they  had  been  her 
own. 

[OoNA,  MARY,  and  CATHLEEN  go  out. 
ALEEL  looks  defiantly  at  SHEMUS.] 
ALEEL  [tinging].      Impetuous    heart,    be 

still,  be  still, 

Your  sorrowful  love  can  never  be  told ; 
Cover  it  up  with  a  lonely  tune. 
He  that  could  bend  all  things  to  His  will 
Has  covered  the  door  of  the  infinite  fold 


20  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

With  the  pale  stars  and  the  wandering  moon. 
[He  takes  a  step  towards  the  door  and  then 

turns  again.} 

Shut  to  the  door  before  the  night  has  fallen, 
For  who  can  say  what  walks,  or  in  what  shape 
Some  devilish  creature  flies  in  the  air,    but 

now 

Two  grey-horned  owls  hooted  above  our  heads. 

[He  goes  out,  his  singing  dies  away.     MARY 

comes  in.    SHEMUS  has  been  counting  the 

money.] 

TEIG.  There's  no  good  luck  in  owls,  but  it 

may  be 

That  the  ill  luck's  to  fall  upon  their  heads. 
MARY.  You  never  thanked  her  ladyship. 
SHEMUS.  Thank  her, 

For  seven  halfpence  and  a  silver  bit  ? 


THE  COUNTESS   CATULEEN  21 

TEIG.   But  for  this  empty  purse? 
SHEMUS.  What's  that  for  thanks, 

Or  what's  the  double  of  it  that  she  prom- 
ised? 
With   bread    and   flesh   and   every   sort   of 

food, 

Up  to  a  price  no  man  has  heard  the  like  of, 
And  rising  every  day. 

MARY.  We  have  all  she  had; 

She  emptied  out  the  purse  before  our  eyes. 
SHEMUS  [to  Mary,  who  has  gone  to  close  the 

door].    Leave  that  door  open. 
MARY.  When  those  that  have  read  books, 
And  seen  the  seven  wonders  of  the  world, 
Fear    what's    above    or    what's    below    the 

ground, 
It's  time  that  poverty  should  bolt  the  door. 


22  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

SHEMUS.  I'll  have  no  bolts,  for  there  is  not 

a  thing 

That  walks  above  the  ground  or  under  it 
I  had  not  rather  welcome  to  this  house 
Than  any  more  of  mankind,  rich  or  poor. 
TEIG.  So  that  they  brought  us  money. 
SHEMUS.  I  heard  say 

There's  something  that  appears  like  a  white 

bird, 

A  pigeon  or  a  seagull  or  the  like, 
But  if  you  hit  it  with  a  stone  or  a  stick 
It  clangs  as  though  it  had  been  made  of  brass ; 
And  that  if  you  dig  down  where  it  was 

scratching 
You'll  find  a  crock  of  gold. 

TEIG.  But  dream  of  gold 

For  three  nights  running,  and  there's  always 
gold. 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  23 

SHEMUS.   You    might    be    starved    before 

you've  dug  it  out. 
TEIG.  But  maybe  if  you  called,  something 

would  come, 
They  have  been  seen  of  late. 

MARY.  Is  it  call  devils  ? 

Call  devils  from  the  wood,  call  them  in  here  ? 

SHEMUS.   So  you'd  stand  up  against  me, 

and  you'd  say 
Who  or  what  I  am  to  welcome  here. 

[He  hits  her.] 

That  is  to  show  who's  master. 
TEIG.  Call  them  in. 

MARY.  God  help  us  all ! 
SHEMUS.  Pray,  if  you  have  a  mind  to. 

It's  little  that  the  sleepy  ears  above 
Care  for  your  words ;  but  I'll  call  what  I  please. 


24  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

TEIG.  There  is  many  a  one,  they  say,  had 

money  from  them. 
SHEMUS  [at  door].  Whatever  you  are  that 

walk  the  woods  at  night, 
So  be  it  that  you  have  not  shouldered  up 
Out    of    a    grave  —  for    I'll    have    nothing 

human  — 

And  have  free  hands,  a  friendly  trick  of  speech, 
I  welcome  you.    Come,  sit  beside  the  fire. 
What  matter  if  your  head's  below  your  arms, 
Or  you've  a  horse's  tail  to  whip  your  flank, 
Feathers  instead  of  hair,  that's  but  a  straw. 
Come,  share  what  bread  and  meat  is  in  the 

house, 
And  stretch  your  heels  and  warm  them  in  the 

ashes. 
And  after  that,  let's  share  and  share  alike 


TEE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  25 

And  curse  all  men  and  women.    Come  in, 
come  in. 

What,  is  there  no  one  there?  {turning  from 
door}. 

And  yet  they  say 

They  are  as  common  as  the  grass,  and  ride 

Even  upon  the  book  in  the  priest's  hand. 
[TEIG  lifts  one  arm  slowly  and  points  towards 
the  door  and  begins  moving  backwards. 
SHEMUS  turns,  he  also  sees  something  and 
begins  moving  backward.  MARY  does  the 
same.  A  man  dressed  as  an  Eastern  mer- 
chant comes  in,  carrying  a  small  carpet. 
He  unrolls  it  and  sits  cross-legged  at  one 
end  of  it.  Another  man  dressed  in  the 
same  way  follows,  and  sits  at  the  other 
end.  This  is  done  slowly  and  deliberately. 


26  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

When  they  are  seated  they  take  money  out 
of  embroidered  purses  at  their  girdles  and 
begin  arranging  it  on  the  carpet.] 
TEIG.   You  speak  to  them. 
SHEMUS.  No,  you. 

TEIG.  'Twas  you  that  called  them. 

SHEMUS  [coming  nearer].    I'd  make  so  bold, 

if  you  would  pardon  it, 
To  ask  if  there's  a  thing  you'd  have  of  us. 
Although  we  are  but  poor  people,  if  there  is, 
Why,  if  there  is  — 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  We've  travelled  a  long 

road, 
For  we  are  merchants  that  must  tramp  the 

world, 

And  now  we  look  for  supper  and  a  fire 
And  a  safe  corner  to  count  money  in. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  27 

SHEMUS.   I    thought    you    were  .  .  .  but 

that's  no  matter  now  — 
There  had  been  words  between  my  wife  and  me 
Because  I  said  I  would  be  master  here, 
And  ask  in  what  I  pleased  or  who  I  pleased. 
And  so  ...    But   that  is  nothing  to  the 

point, 

Because  it's  certain  that  you  are  but  mer- 
chants. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  We  travel  for  the  Master 

of  all  merchants. 
SHEMUS.   Yet    if   you    were   that    I    had 

thought  but  now 

I'd  welcome  you  no  less.    Be  what  you  please 
And  you'll  have  supper  at  the  market  rate, 
That  means  that  what  was  sold  for  but  a 
penny 


28  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

Is  now  worth  fifty. 

[MERCHANTS  begin  putting  money  on  carpet.] 

FIRST  MERCHANT.   Our  Master  bids  us  pay 
So  good  a  price,  that  all  who  deal  with  us 
Shall  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry. 

SHEMUS  [to  MARY].  Bestir  yourself, 

Go  kill  and  draw  the  fowl,  while  Teig  and  I 
Lay  out  the  plates  and  make  a  better  fire. 

MARY.   I  will  not  cook  for  you. 

SHEMUS.  Not  cook !  not  cook  I 

Do  not  be  angry.     She  wants  to  pay  me 

back 

Because  I  struck  her  in  that  argument. 
But  she'll  get  sense  again.    Since  the  dearth 

came 

We  rattle  one  on  another  as  though  we  were 
Knives  thrown  into  a  basket  to  be  cleaned. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  29 

MARY.  I  will  not  cook  for  you,  because  I 

know 

In  what  unlucky  shape  you  sat  but  now 
Outside  this  door. 

TEIG.  It's  this,  your  honours : 

Because  of  some  wild  words  my  father  said 
She  thinks  you  are  not  of  those  who  cast  a 

shadow. 
SHEMUS.   I  said  I'd  make  the  devils  of  the 

wood 

Welcome,  if  they'd  a  mind  to  eat  and  drink ; 
But  it  is  certain  that  you  are  men  like  us. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.   It's    strange   that    she 

should  think  we  cast  no  shadow, 
For  there  is  nothing  on  the  ridge  of  the  world 
That's  more  substantial  than  the  merchants  are 
That  buy  and  sell  you. 


30  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

MARY.  If  you  are  not  demons, 

And  seeing  what  great  wealth  is  spread  out 

there, 

Give  food  or  money  to  the  starving  poor. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.   If  we  knew  how  to  find 

deserving  poor 
We'd  do  our  share. 

MARY.  But  seek  them  patiently. 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  We  know  the  evils  of 

mere  charity. 
MARY.  Those  scruples  may  befit  a  common 

time. 
I  had  thought  there  was  a  pushing  to  and 

fro 

At  times  like  this,  that  overset  the  scale 
And  trampled  measure  down. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  But  if  already 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  31 

We'd  thought  of  a  more  prudent  way  than 

that? 
SECOND  MERCHANT.  If  each  one  brings  a 

bit  of  merchandise, 
We'll  give  him  such  a  price  he  never  dreamt 

of. 
MARY.  Where  shall  the  starving  come  at 

merchandise  ? 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  We  will  ask  nothing  but 

what  all  men  have. 
MARY.  Their  swine  and  cattle,  fields  and 

implements, 
Are  sold  and  gone. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.        They  have  not  sold 

all  yet, 

For  there's  a  vaporous  thing  —  that  may  be 
nothing, 


32  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

But  that's  the  buyer's  risk  —  a  second  self, 
They  call  immortal  for  a  story's  sake. 
SHEMUS.   You  come  to  buy  our  souls  ? 
TEIG.  I'll  barter  mine ; 

Why  should  we  starve  for  what  may  be  but 

nothing  ? 

MARY.  Teig  and  Shemus  — 
SHEMUS.  What  can  it  be  but  nothing, 
What  has  God  poured  out  of  His  bag  but 

famine  ? 

Satan  gives  money. 

TEIG.  Yet  no  thunder  stirs. 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  There  is  a  heap  for  each. 
[SHEMUS  goes  to  take  the  money.'] 
But  no,  not  yet. 

For  there's  a  work  I  have  to  set  ycr  to. 
SHEMUS.   So  then  you're  as  deceitful  as  the 
rest, 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  33 

And  all  that  talk  of  buying  what's  but  a 

vapour 

Is  fancy-bread.    I  might  have  known  as  much 
Because  that's  how  the  trick-o'-t he-loop  man 

talks. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  That's    for    the    work, 

each  has  its  separate  price ; 
But  neither  price  is  paid  till  the  work's  done. 
TEIG.  The  same  for  me. 
MARY.  Oh,  God,  why  are  you  still  ? 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  You've  but  to  cry  aloud 

at  every  cross-road, 
At  every  house  door,  that  we  buy  men's 

souls, 

And  give  so  good  a  price  that  all  may  live 
In  mirth  and  comfort  till  the  famine's  done, 
Because  we  are  Christian  men. 


34  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

SHEMUS.  Come,  let's  away  . 

TEIG.   I  shall  keep  running  till  I've  earned 

the  price. 
SECOND  MERCHANT   [who   has    risen    and 

gone  towards  fire]. 

Stop,  for  we  obey  a  generous  Master, 
That  would  be  served  by  comfortable  men. 
And  here's  your  entertainment  on  the  road. 
[TEIG    and   SHEMUS    have   stopped.    TEIG 

takes  the  money.     They  go  out.] 
MARY.   Destroyers  of  souls,  God  will  de- 
stroy you  quickly. 
You  shall  at  last   dry  like  dry  leaves   and 

hang 

Nailed  like  dead  vermin  to  the  doors  of  God. 
SECOND  MERCHANT.  Curse  to  your  fill,  for 
saints  will  have  their  dreams. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  35 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  Though  we're  but  ver- 
min that  our  Master  sent 
To  overrun  the  world,  he  at  the  end 
Shall  pull  apart  the  pale  ribs  of  the  moon 
And  quench  the  stars  in  the  ancestral  night. 
MARY.  God  is  all-powerful. 
SECOND  MERCHANT.    Pray,  you  shall  need 

Him. 

You  shall  eat  dock,  and  grass,  and  dande- 
lion, 

Till  that  low  threshold  there  becomes  a  wall, 
And  when  your  hands  can  scarcely  drag  your 

body 

We  shall  be  near  you.  [MARY/oin/s.] 

[The  FIRST  MERCHANT  takes  up  the  carpet, 
spreads  it  before  the  fire  and  stands  in 
front  of  it  warming  his  hands.] 


36  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

FIRST  MERCHANT.   Our      faces      go      un- 

scratched, 
For  she  has  fainted.    Wring  the  neck  o'  that 

fowl, 
Scatter  the  flour  and  search  the  shelves  for 

bread. 
We'll  turn  the  fowl  upon  the  spit  and  roast 

it 

And  eat  the  supper  we  were  bidden  to. 
Now  that   the   house   is   quiet,   praise   our 

Master, 
And  stretch  and  warm  our  heels  among  the 

ashes. 


SCENE  II 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  39 


FRONT  SCENE.  A  wood  with  perhaps  distant 
mew  of  turreted  house  at  one  side,  but  all 
in  flat  colour,  without  light  and  shade  and 
against  a  diapered  or  gold  background. 

COUNTESS    CATHLEEN    comes    in    leaning 

upon  ALEEL'S  arm.    OONA  follows  them. 

CATHLEEN   [stopping].     Surely  this  leafy 

corner,  where  one  smells 
The  wild  bee's  honey,  has  a  story  too  ? 
OONA.  There  is  the  house  at  last. 
ALEEL.  A  man,  they  say, 

Loved  Maeve,  the  Queen  of  all  the  invisible 
host, 


40  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

And  died  of  his  love  nine  centuries  ago. 
And  now  when  the  moon's  riding  at  the  full, 
She  leaves  her  dancers  lonely  and  lies  there 
Upon  that  level  place,  and  for  three  days 
Stretches  and  sighs  and  wets  her  long  pale 

cheeks. 

CATHLEEN.   So  she  loves  truly. 
ALEEL.  No,  but  wets  her  cheeks, 

Lady,  because  she  has  forgot  his  name. 
CATHLEEN.   She'd  sleep  that  trouble  away 

—  though  it  must  be 
A  heavy  trouble  to  forget  his  name  — 
If  she  had  better  sense. 
OONA.  Your  own  house,  Lady. 

ALEEL.  She    sleeps    high    up    on    wintry 

Knock-na-rea 

In  an  old  cairn  of  stones;    while  her  poor 
women 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  41 

Must  lie  and  jog  in  the  wave  if  they  would 

sleep  — 
Being    water-born  —  yet,    if   she    cry   their 

names, 
They  run  up  on  the  land  and  dance   in  the 

moon 

Till  they  are  giddy  and  would  love  as  men  do, 
And  be  as  patient  and  as  pitiful, 
But  there  is  nothing  that  will  stop  in  their 

heads, 
They've  such  poor  memories,  though  they 

weep  for  it. 
Oh,  yes,  they  weep;   that's  when  the  moon 

is  full. 
CATHLEEN.  Is  it  because  they  have  short 

memories 
They  live  so  long  ? 


42  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

ALEEL.  What's  memory  but  the  ash 

That   chokes   our   fires    that  have   begun  to 

sink, 

And  they've  a  dizzy,  everlasting  fire. 
OONA.  There  is  your  own  house,  Lady. 
CATHLEEN.  Why,  that's  true, 

And  we'd  have  passed  it  without  noticing. 
ALEEL.  A  curse  upon  it  for  a  meddlesome 

house ! 

Had  it  but  stayed  away  I  would  have  known 
What  Queen  Maeve  thinks  on  when  the  moon 

is  pinched  ; 
And  whether  now  —  as  in  the  old  days  —  the 

dancers 
Set  their  brief  love  on  men. 

OONA.  Rest  on  my  arm. 

These  are  no  thoughts  for  any  Christian  ear. 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  43 

ALEEL.   I  am  younger,  she  would  be  too 

heavy  for  you. 

[He  begins  taking  his  lute  out  of  the  bag, 
CATHLEEN,  who  has  turned  towards  OONA, 
turns  back  to  him.] 

This  hollow  box  remembers  every  foot 
That  danced  upon  the  level  grass  of  the  world, 
And  will  tell  secrets  if  I  whisper  to  it. 
[Sings.] 

"  Lift  up  the  white  knee, 
That's  what  they  sing, 
Those  young  dancers 
That  in  a  ring 
Raved  but  now 
Of  the  hearts  that  break 
Long,  long  ago, 
For  their  sake." 


44  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

OONA.   New  friends  are  sweet. 
ALEEL.   "But  the  dance  changes, 
Lift  up  the  gown, 
All  that  sorrow 
Is  trodden  down." 
OONA.  The  empty  rattle-pate !    Lean  on 

this  arm, 

That  I  can  tell  you  is  a  christened  arm, 
And  not  like  some,  if  we  are  to  judge  by 

speech. 

But  as  you  please.     It  is  time  I  was  forgot. 
Maybe  it  is  not  on  this  arm  you  slumbered 
When  you  were  as  helpless  as  a  worm. 
ALEEL.  Stay  with  me  till  we  come  to  your 

own  house. 

CATHLEEN  [sitting  dowri\. 
When  I  am  rested,  I  will  need  no  help. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  45 

ALEEL.   I  thought  to  have  kept  her  from 

remembering 

The  evil  of  the  times  for  full  ten  minutes ; 
But  now  when  seven  are  out  you  come  be- 
tween. 
OONA.  Talk  on;  what  does  it  matter  what 

you  say, 

For  you  have  not  been  christened  ? 
ALEEL.  Old  woman,  old  woman, 

You  robbed  her  of  three  minutes'  peace  of 

mind, 

And  though  you  live  unto  a  hundred  years, 
And  wash  the  feet  of  beggars  and  give  alms, 
And  climb  Croaghpatrick,  you  shall  not  be 

pardoned. 
OONA.  How  does  a  man  who  never  was 

baptized, 
Know  what  Heaven  pardons  ? 


46  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

ALEEL.  You  are  a  sinful  woman. 

OONA.   I  care  no  more  than  if  a  pig  had 
grunted. 

[Enter  CATHLEEN'S  STEWARD.] 
STEWARD.   I  am  not  to  blame,  for  I  had 

locked  the  gate, 
The  forester's  to  blame.    The  men  climbed 

in 

At  the  east  corner  where  the  elm  tree  is. 
CATHLEEN.   I  do  not  understand  you ;  who 

has  climbed  ? 
STEWARD.  Then  God  be  thanked,   I  am 

the  first  to  tell  you. 

I  was  afraid  some  other  of  the  servants  — 
Though  I've  been  on  the  watch  —  had  been 

the  first, 
And  mixed  up  truth  and  lies,  your  ladyship. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  47 

CATHLEEN   [rising].    Has  some  misfortune 

happened  ? 

STEWARD.  Yes,  indeed. 

The  forester  that  let  the  branches  lie 
Against  the  wall's  to  blame  for  everything. 
For  that  is  how  the  rogues  got  into  the  garden. 
CATHLEEX.   I  thought  to  have  escaped  mis- 
fortune here. 
Has  any  one  been  killed  ? 

STEWARD.  Oh,  no,  not  killed. 

They  have  stolen  half  a  cart-load  of  green 

cabbage. 

CATHLEEN.   But  maybe  they  were  starving. 

STEWARD.  That  is  certain. 

To  rob  or  starve,  that  was  the  choice  they  had. 

CATHLEEN.   A  learned  theologian  has  laid 

down 


48  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

That  starving  men  may  take  what's  necessary, 
And  yet  be  sinless. 

OONA.  Sinless  and  a  thief  ! 

There  should  be  broken  bottles  on  the  wall. 

CATHLEEN.   And  if  it  be  a  sin,  while  faith's 

unbroken, 

God  cannot  help  but  pardon.    There  is  no  soul 
But  it's  unlike  all  others  in  the  world, 
Nor  one  but  lifts  a  strangeness  to  God's  love, 
Till  that's  grown  infinite,  and  therefore  none 
Whose  loss  were  less  than  irremediable 
Although  it  were  the  wickedest  in  the  world. 
[Enter  TEIG  and  SHEMUS.] 

STEWARD.  What    are    you    running    for? 

Pull  off  your  cap. 
Do  you  not  see  who's  there  ? 

SHEMUS.  I  cannot  wait. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  49 

I  am  running  to  the  world  with  the  best  news 
That  has   been   brought  it  for  a  thousand 

years. 

STEWARD.  Then  get  your  breath  and  speak. 
SHEMUS.  If  you'd  my  news 

You'd  run  as  fast  and  be  as  out  of  breath. 
TEIG.   Such  news,  we  shall  be  carried  on 

men's  shoulders. 
SHEMUS.   There's  something  every  man  has 

carried  with  him 

And  thought  no  more  about  than  if  it  were 
A  mouthful  of  the  wind ;   and  now  it's  grown 
A  marketable  thing ! 

TEIG.  And  yet  it  seemed 

As  useless  as  the  paring  of  one's  nails. 
SHEMUS.  What  sets  me  laughing  when  I 
think  of  it 

VOL.   II.  —  E 


50  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

Is  that  a  rogue  who's  lain  in  lousy  straw, 
If  he  but  sell  it,  may  set  up  his  coach. 
TEIG   [laughing].    There  are  two  gentlemen 

who  buy  men's  souls. 
CATHLEEN.   0  God ! 

TEIG.        And  maybe  there's  no  soul  at  all. 
STEWARD.  They're  drunk  or  mad. 
TEIG.  Look  at  the  price  they  give. 

[Showing  money.} 
SHEMUS   [tossing  up  money],    "Go  cry  it 

all  about  the  world,"  they  said. 
"Money  for  souls,  good  money  for  a  soul." 
CATHLEEN.  Give    twice    and    thrice    and 

twenty  times  their  money, 
And  get  your  souls  again.     I  will  pay  all. 
SHEMUS.  Not  we,  not  we.    For  souls  —  if 
there  are  souls  — 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  51 

But  keep  the  flesh  out  of  its  merriment. 
I  shall  be  drunk  and  merry. 
TEIG.  Come,  let's  away.     [He  goes.] 

CATHLEEN.  But  there's  a  world  to  come. 
SHEMUS.  And  if  there  is, 

I'd  rather  trust  myself  into  the  hands 
That  can  pay  money  down,  than  to  the  hands 
That  have  but  shaken  famine  from  the  bag. 

[He  goes  out  R.] 
[Lilting.]   "There's  money  for  a  soul,  sweet 

yellow  money. 
There's  money  for  men's  souls,  good  money, 

money." 
CATHLEEN  [to  ALEEL].    Go  call  them  here 

again,  bring  them  by  force, 
Beseech  them,  bribe,  do  anything  you  like 

[ALEEL  goes.  \ 


52  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

And  you  too,  follow,  add  your  prayers  to 

his. 

[OoNA,  who  has  been  praying,  goes  out.] 
CATHLEEN.   Steward,  you  know  the  secrets 

of  my  house. 
How  much  have  I  ? 

STEWARD.  A  hundred  kegs  of  gold. 

CATHLEEN.  How  much  have  I  in  castles  ? 
STEWARD.  As  much  more. 

CATHLEEN.  How  much  have  I  in  pasture  ? 
STEWARD.  As  much  more. 

CATHLEEN.   How  much  have  I  in  forests  ? 
STEWARD.  As  much  more. 

CATHLEEN.  Keeping  this  house  alone,  sell 

all  I  have, 

Go  barter  where  you  please,  but  come  again 
With  herds  of  cattle  and  with  ships  of  meal. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  63 

STEWARD.  God's  blessing  light  upon  your 

ladyship. 

You  will  have  saved  the  land. 
CATHLEEN.  Make  no  delay. 

[He  goes  L.] 

[ALEEL  and  OONA  return.] 
They  have  not  come;  speak  quickly. 

ALEEL.  One  drew  his  knife, 

And  said  that   he  would  kill  the  man   or 

woman 
That  stopped  his  way;    and  when  I  would 

have  stopped  him, 

He  made  this  stroke  at  me,  but  it  is  noth- 
ing. 
CATHLEEN.  You  shall   be  tended.    From 

this  day  for  ever 
I'll  have  no  joy  or  sorrow  of  my  own. 


54  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

OONA.  Their  eyes   shone  like   the  eyes  of 

birds  of  prey. 
CATHLEEN.  Come,  follow  me,  for  the  earth 

burns  my  feet 

Till  I  have  changed  my  house  to  such  a  refuge 
That  the  old  and  ailing,  and  all  weak  of  heart, 
May  escape  from  beak  and  claw ;  all,  all,  shall 

come, 

Till  the  walls  burst  and  the  roof  fall  on  us. 
From  this  day  out  I  have  nothing  of  my  own. 

[She  goes.] 
OONA   [taking  ALEEL  by  the  arm  and  as  she 

speaks  bandaging  his  wound]. 
She  has  found  something  now  to  put  her 

hand  to, 

And  you  and  I  are  of  no  more  account 
Than  flies  upon  a  window-pane  in  the  winter. 

[They  go  out.] 


SCENE  III 


THE  COUNTESS   CATULEEN  57 


SCENE.  Hall  in  the  house  O/COUXTESS  CATH- 
LEEN.  At  the  Left  an  oratory  with  steps 
leading  up  to  it.  At  the  Right  a  tapestried 
wall,  more  or  less  repeating  the  form  of  the 
oratory,  and  a  great  chair  with  its  back 
against  the  wall.  In  the  Centre  are  two  or 
more  arches  through  which  one  can  see 
dimly  the  trees  of  the  garden.  Cathleen  is 
kneeling  in  front  of  the  altar  in  the  oratory. 
There  is  a  hanging  lighted  lamp  over  the  altar. 
ALEEL  enters. 

ALEEL.  I  have  come  to  bid  you  leave  this 
castle  and  fly 

Out  of  these  woods. 


58  THE  COUNTESS    CATHLEEN 

CATHLEEN.  What  evil  is  there  here, 

That  is  not  everywhere  from  this  to  the  sea? 

ALEEL.   They    who    have    sent     me    walk 

invisible. 
CATHLEEN.   So  it  is  true  what  I  have  heard 

men  say, 
That  you  have  seen  and  heard  what  others 

cannot. 
ALEEL.   I  was  asleep  in  my  bed,  and  while 

I  slept 

My  dream  became  a  fire ;  and  in  the  fire 
One  walked,  and  he  had  birds  about  his  head. 
CATHLEEN.   I  have  heard  that  one  of  the 

old  gods  walked  so. 
ALEEL.   It  may  be  that  he  is  angelical ; 
And,  Lady,  he  bids  me  call  you  from  these 
woods. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  59 

And  you  must   bring  but  your  old  foster- 
mother, 
And  some  few  serving  men,  and  live  in  the 

hills, 

Among  the  sounds  of  music  and  the  light 
Of  waters,  till  the  evil  days  are  done. 
For  here  some  terrible  death  is  waiting  you, 
Some  unimagined  evil,  some  great  darkness 
That  fable  has  not  dreamt  of,  nor  sun  nor 

moon 
Scattered. 

CATHLEEN.      No,  not  angelical. 

ALEEL.  This  house 

You  are  to  leave  with  some  old  trusty  man, 
And  bid  him  shelter  all  that  starve  or  wander, 
While  there  is  food  and  house  room. 

CATHLEEN.  He  bids  me  go 


60  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

Where  none  of  mortal  creatures  but  the  swan 
Dabbles,  and  there  you  would  pluck  the  harp, 

when  the  trees 

Had  made  a  heavy  shadow  about  our  door, 
And  talk  among  the  rustling  of  the  reeds, 
When  night  hunted  the  foolish  sun  away 
With  stillness  and  pale  tapers.    No  —  no  — 

no! 

I  cannot.    Although  I  weep,  I  do  not  weep 
Because  that  life  would  be  most  happy,  and 

here 

I  find  no  way,  no  end.     Nor  do  I  weep 
Because  I  had  longed  to  look  upon  your  face, 
But  that  a  night  of  prayer  has  made  me  weary. 
ALEEL     [prostrating    himself    before    her}. 
Let  Him  that  made  mankind,  the  angels  and 

devils, 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  61 

And  death  and  plenty,  mend  what  He  has  made, 
For  when  we  labour  in  vain  and  eye  still  sees 
Heart  breaks  in  vain. 

CATHLEEN.        How  would  that  quiet  end  ? 
ALEEL.  How  but  in  healing  ? 
CATHLEEN.  You  have  seen  my  tears 

And  I  can  see  your  hand  shake  on  the  floor. 
ALEEL  [faltering].    I  thought  but  of  heal- 
ing.    He  was  angelical. 
CATHLEEN.   [turning  away  from  him].    No, 

not  angelical,  but  of  the  old  gods. 
Who  wander  about  the  world  to  waken  the 

heart  — 
The  passionate  proud  heart  —  that  all  the 

angels, 

Leaving  nine  heavens  empty,  would  rock  to 
sleep. 


62  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

[She  goes  to  chapel  door.  ALEEL  holds  his 
clasped  hands  towards  her  for  a  moment 
hesitatingly,  and  then  lets  them  fall  be- 
side him.] 

CATHLEEN.   Do  not  hold  out  to  me  beseech- 
ing hands. 
This  heart  shall  never  waken  on  earth.     I 

have  sworn 
By  her  whose  heart  the  seven  sorrows  have 

pierced, 

To  pray  before  this  altar  until  my  heart 
Has  grown  to  Heaven  like  a  tree,  and  there 
Rustled  its  leaves,  till  Heaven  has  saved  my 

people. 
ALEEL  [who  has  risen].    When  one  so  great 

has  spoken  of  love  to  one 
So  little  as  I,  though  to  deny  him  love, 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  63 

What  can  he  but  hold  out  beseeching  hands, 

Then  let  them  fall  beside  him,  knowing  how 
greatly 

They  have  overdared? 

[He  goes  towards  the  door  of  the  hall.     The 
COUNTESS  CATHLEEN   takes  a  few  steps 
towards  him.] 
CATHLEEN.  If  the  old  tales  are  true, 

Queens  have  wed  shepherds  and  kings  beggar- 
maids  ; 

God's  procreant  waters  flowing  about  your 
mind 

Have  made  you  more  than  kings  or  queens; 
and  not  you, 

But  I  am  the  empty  pitcher. 
ALEEL.  Being  silent, 

I  have  said  ah1;   yet  let  me  stay  beside  you. 


64  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

CATHLEEN.   No,  no,  not  while  my  heart  is 

shaken.    No, 

But  you  shall  hear  wind  cry  and  water  cry, 
And  curlews  cry,  and  have  the  peace  I  longed 
for. 

ALEEL.  Give  me  your  hand  to  kiss. 

CATHLEEN.  I  kiss  your  forehead. 

And  yet  I  send  you  from  me.     Do  not  speak. 
There  have  been  women  that  bid  men  to  rob 
Crowns   from   the  Country-under-Wave,    or 

apples 

Upon  a  dragon-guarded  hill,  and  all 
That  they  might  sift  men's  hearts  and  wills, 
And  trembled  as  they  bid  it,  as  I  tremble 
That  lay  a  hard  task  on  you,  that  you  go, 
And  silently,  and  do  not  turn  your  head; 
Good-bye;  but  do  not  turn  your  head  and  look ; 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  65 

Above  all  else,  I  would  not  have  you  look. 

[ALEEL  goes.] 

I  never  spoke  to  him  of  his  wounded  hand, 
And  now  he  is  gone. 

[She  looks  out.} 

I  cannot  see  him,  for  all  is  dark  outside. 
Would  my  imagination  and  my  heart 
Were  as  little  shaken  as  this  holy  flame. 
[She  goes  slowly  into  the  chapel.     The  two 

MERCHANTS  enter.] 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  Although  I  bid  you  rob 

her  treasury, 

I  find  you  sitting  drowsed  and  motionless, 
And  yet  you  understand  that  while  it's  full 
She'll  bid  against  us  and  so  bribe  the  poor 
That  our  great  Master'll  lack  his  merchan- 
dise. 

VOL.   II.  P 


66  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

You  know  that  she  has  brought  into  this 
house 

The  old  and  ailing  that  are  pinched  the  most 

At  such  a  time,  and  so  should  be  bought 
cheap. 

You've  seen  us  sitting  in  the  house  in  the 
wood, 

While  the  snails  crawled  about  the  window- 
pane 

And  the  mud  floor,  and  not  a  soul  to  buy ; 

Not  even  the  wandering  fool's  nor  one  of  those 

That  when  the  world  goes  wrong  must  rave 
and  talk, 

Until  they  are  as  thin  as  a  cat's  ear. 

But  all  that's  nothing ;  you  sit  drowsing  there 

With  your  back  hooked,  your  chin  upon  your 
knees. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  67 

SECOND  MERCHANT.  How  could  I  help  it? 

For  she  prayed  so  hard 
I  could  not  cross  the  threshold  till  her  lover 
Had  turned  her  thoughts  to  dream. 

FIRST  MERCHANT.       Well,  well,  to  labour. 
There  is  the  treasury  door  and  time  runs 

on. 

[SECOND  MERCHANT  goes  out.    FIRST  MER- 
CHANT sits  cross-legged  against  a  pillar, 
yawns  and  stretches.] 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  And  so  I  must  endure 

the  weight  of  the  world. 
Far  from  my  master  and  the  revelry, 
That's  lasted  since  —  shaped  as  a  worm  —  he 

bore 

The  knowledgeable  pippin  in  his  mouth 
To  the  first  woman. 


68  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

[SECOND  MERCHANT  returns  with  bags.] 

Where  are  those  dancers  gone  ? 

They  knew  they  were  to  carry  it  on  their 

backs. 

SECOND  MERCHANT.   I  heard  them  breath- 
ing but  a  moment  since, 
But  now  they  are  gone,  being  unsteadfast 

things. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  They  knew  their  work. 

It  seems  that  they  imagine 
We'd  do  such  wrong  to  our  great  Master's 

name 

As  to  bear  burdens  on  our  backs  as  men  do. 
I'll  call  them,  and  who'll  dare  to  disobey  ? 
Come,  all  you  elemental  populace, 
From  Cruachan  and  Finbar's  ancient  house, 
Come,  break  up  the  long  dance  under  the  hill, 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  69 

Or  if  you  lie  in  the  hollows  of  the  sea, 
Leave  lonely  the  long  hoarding  surges,  leave 
The  cymbals  of  the  waves  to  clash  alone, 
And  shaking  the  sea  tangles  from  your  hair 
Gather  about  us. 

[The  SPIRITS  gather  under  the  arches.'] 
SECOND  MERCHANT.  They  come.     Be  still 
a  while. 

[SPIRITS  dance  and  sing.] 
FIRST  SPIRIT  [singing].   Our  hearts  are  sore, 

but  we  come 

Because  we  have  heard  you  call. 
SECOND  SPIRIT.   Sorrow  has  made  me  dumb. 
FIRST  SPIRIT.   Her  shepherds  at  nightfall 
Lay  many  a  plate  and  cup 
Down  by  the  trodden  brink, 
That  when  the  dance  break  up 


70  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

We  may  have  meat  and  drink. 
Therefore  our  hearts  are  sore ; 
And  though  we  have  heard  and  come, 
Our  crying  filled  the  shore. 
SECOND  SPIRIT.   Sorrow     has     made     me 

dumb. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  What  lies  in  the  waves 

should  be  indifferent 

To  good  and  evil,  and  yet  it  seems  that  these, 
Forgetful  of  their  pure,  impartial  sea, 
Take  sides  with  her. 
SECOND  MERCHANT.  Hush,  hush,  and  still 

your  feet. 

You  are  not  now  upon  Maeve's  dancing-floor. 
A  SPIRIT.   0,  look  what  I  have  found,  a 
string  of  pearls ! 

[They  begin  taking  jewels  out  of  bag.] 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  71 

SECOND  MERCHANT.  You  must  not  touch 

them,  put  them  in  the  bag. 
And  now  take  up  the  bags  upon  your  backs 
And  carry  them  to  Shemus  Rua's  house 
On  the  wood's  border. 

SPIRITS.  No,  no,  no,  no. 

FIRST  SPIRIT.  No,  no,  let  us  away; 
From  this  we  shall  not  come, 
Cry  out  to  us  who  may. 

SECOND    SPIRIT.     Sorrow    has   made   me 
dumb.  [They  go.] 

SECOND  MERCHANT.  They're  gone,  for  little 

do  they  care  for  me, 

And  if  I  called  they  would  but  turn  and  mock, 
But  you  they  dare  not  disobey. 

FIRST  MERCHANT   [rising].  These  dancers 
Are  always  the  most  troublesome  of  spirits. 


72  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

[He  comes  down  the  stage  and  stands  facing 
the  arches.  He  makes  a  gesture  of  com- 
mand. The  SPIRITS  come  back  whimper- 
ing. They  lift  the  bags  and  go  out.  Three 
speak  as  they  are  taking  up  the  bags.] 
FIRST  SPIRIT.  From  this  day  out  we'll 

never  dance  again. 
SECOND  SPIRIT.  Never  again. 

THIRD  SPIRIT.   Sorrow  has  made  me  dumb. 
SECOND  MERCHANT  [looking  into  the  chapel 
door].  She  has  heard  nothing;   she  has 
fallen  asleep. 
Our  lord  would  be  well  pleased  if  we  could  win 

her. 

Now  that  the  winds  are  heavy  with  our  kind, 
Might  we  not  kill  her,  and  bear  off  her  spirit 
Before  the  mob  of  angels  were  astir  ? 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  73 

FIRST  MERCHANT.   If  we  would  win  this 

turquoise  for  our  lord 
It  must  go  dropping  down  of  its  free  will ; 
But  I've  a  plan. 

SECOND  MERCHANT.  To  take  her  soul  to- 
night? 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  Because  I  am  of  the 

ninth  and  mightiest  hell 
Where  are  all  kings,  I  have  a  plan. 

[Voices.] 

SECOND  MERCHANT.  Too  late ; 

For  somebody  is  stirring  in  the  house;  the  noise 
That  the  sea  creatures  made  as  they  came 

hither, 

Their  singing  and  their  endless  chattering, 
Has  waked  the  house.     I  hear  the  chairs 
pushed  back, 


74  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

And  many  shuffling  feet.    All  the  old  men 

and  women 
She's    gathered   in   the   house   are    coming 

hither. 

A  VOICE  [within].   It  was  here. 
ANOTHER  VOICE.  No,  farther  away. 

ANOTHER  VOICE.   It  was  in  the  western 

tower. 
ANOTHER  VOICE.  Come   quickly,   we   will 

search  the  western  tower. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  We  still  have  time  — • 

they  search  the  distant  rooms. 
SECOND  MERCHANT.   Brother,    I    heard    a 

sound  in  there  —  a  sound 
That  troubles  me.     [Going  to  the  door  of  the 

oratory  and  peering  through  it.]    Upon 

the  altar  steps 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  75 

The  Countess  tosses,  murmuring  in  her  sleep 
A  broken  paternoster. 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  Do  not  fear, 

For  when  she  has  awaked  the  prayer  will  cease. 
SECOND   MERCHANT.     What,    would    you 

wake  her? 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  I  will  speak  with  her, 
And  mix  with  all  her  thoughts  a  thought  to 

serve.  — 

Lady,  we've  news  that's  crying  out  for  speech. 
[CATHLEEN]  wakes  and  comes  to  the  door  of 

the  chapel.] 

CATHLEEN.  Who  calls  ? 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  We  have  brought  news. 
CATHLEEN.  What  are  you  ? 

FIRST  MERCHANT.    We  are  merchants,  and 
we  know  the  book  of  the  world 


76  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

Because  we  have  walked  upon  its  leaves ;  and 

there 
Have  read  of  late  matters  that  much  concern 

you; 

And  noticing  the  castle  door  stand  open, 
Came  in  to  find  an  ear. 

CATHLEEN.  The  door  stands  open, 

That  no  one  who  is  famished  or  afraid, 
Despair  of  help  or  of  a  welcome  with  it. 
But  you  have  news,  you  say  ? 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  We  saw  a  man, 

Heavy  with  sickness  in  the  bog  of  Allen, 
Whom  you  had  bid  buy  cattle.    Near  Fair 

Head 

We  saw  your  grain  ships  lying  all  becalmed 
In  the  dark  night;    and  not  less  still  than 
they, 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  77 

Burned  all  their  mirrored  lanthorns  in  the 

sea. 
CATHLEEN.   My  thanks  to  God,  to  Mary  and 

the  angels, 

That  I  have  money  in  my  treasury, 
And   can   buy  grain   from  those   who  have 

stored  it  up 

To  prosper  on  the  hunger  of  the  poor. 
But  you've  been  far  and  know  the  signs  of 

things, 

When  will  this  yellow  vapour  no  more  hang 
And  creep  about  the  fields,  and  this  great  heat 
Vanish  away,  and  grass  show  its  green  shoots  ? 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  There    is    no    sign   of 

change  —  day  copies  day, 
Green  things  are  dead  —  the  cattle  too  are 

dead  — 


78  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

Or  dying  —  and  on  all  the  vapour  hangs, 
And  fattens  with  disease  and  glows  with  heat. 
In  you  is  all  the  hope  of  all  the  land. 
CATHLEEN.  And  heard  you  of  the  demons 

who  buy  souls  ? 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  There    are    some    men 

who  hold  they  have  wolves'  heads, 
And  say  their  limbs  —  dried  by  the  infinite 

flame  — 

Have  all  the  speed  of  storms ;  others,  again, 
Say  they  are  gross  and  little ;  while  a  few 
Will  have  it  they  seem  much  as  mortals  are, 
But  tall  and  brown  and  travelled  —  like  us  — 

Lady, 

Yet  all  agree  a  power  is  in  their  looks 
That  makes  men  bow,  and  flings  a  casting-net 
About  their  souls,  and  that  all  men  would  go 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  79 

And  barter  those  poor  vapours,  were  it  not 
You   bribe  them   with  the   safety   of  your 

gold. 
CATHLEEN.  Praise  be  to  God,  to  Mary,  and 

the  angels 

That  I  am  wealthy.    Wherefore  do  they  sell  ? 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  As  we  came  in  at  the 

great  door,  we  saw 

Your  porter  sleeping  in  his  niche  —  a  soul 
Too  little  to  be  worth  a  hundred  pence 
And  yet  they  buy  it  for  a  hundred  crowns. 
But,  for  a  soul  like  yours,  I  heard  them  say, 
They    would    give    five    hundred    thousand 

crowns  and  more. 
CATHLEEN.  How  can  a  heap  of  crowns  pay 

for  a  soul  ? 
Is  the  green  grave  so  terrible  a  thing  ? 


80  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

FIRST  MERCHANT.   Some  sell  because  the 

money  gleams,  and  some 
Because  they  are  in  terror  of  the  grave, 
And  some  because  their  neighbours  sold  be- 
fore, 

And  some  because  there  is  a  kind  of  joy 
In  casting  hope  away,  in  losing  joy, 
In  ceasing  all  resistance,  in  at  last 
Opening  one's  arms  to  the  eternal  flames, 
In  casting  all  sails  out  upon  the  wind ; 
To  this  —  full  of  the  gaiety  of  the  lost  — 
Would  all  folk  hurry  if  your  gold  were  gone. 
CATHLEEN.  There  is  something,  Merchant, 

in  your  voice 
That  makes  me  fear.    When  you  were  telling 

how 
A  man  may  lose  his  soul  and  lose  his  God, 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  81 

Your  eyes  were  lighted  up,  and  when  you 

told 
How   my   poor   money   serves   the   people, 

both- 
Merchants,  forgive  me  —  seemed  to  smile. 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  Man's  sins 

Move  us  to  laughter  only;  we  have  seen 
So  many  lands  and  seen  so  many  men, 
How  strange  that  all  these  people  should  be 

swung 

As  on  a  lady's  shoe-string,  —  under  them 
The  glowing  leagues  of  never-ending  flame. 
CATHLEEN.   There  is  a  something  in  you 

that  I  fear 

A  something  not  of  us ;  but  were  you  not  born 
In  some  most  distant  corner  of  the  world  ? 
[The   SECOND    MERCHANT,    who  has   been 

VOL.   II. Q 


82  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

listening  at  the  door,  comes  forward,  and 
as  he  comes  a  sound  of  voices  and  feet  is 
heard.] 
SECOND  MERCHANT.  Away  now  —  they  are 

in  the  passage  —  hurry, 
For  they  will  know  us,  and  freeze  up  our 

hearts 

With  Ave  Marys,  and  burn  all  our  skin 
With  holy  water. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  Farewell ;   for  we  must 

ride 

Many  a  mile  before  the  morning  come ; 
Our  horses  beat  the  ground  impatiently. 
[They  go  out.    A  number  of  PEASANTS  enter 

by  other  door.] 

FIRST  PEASANT.   Forgive  us,  Lady,  but  we 
heard  a  noise. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  83 

SECOND  PEASANT.  We  sat  by  the  fireside 

telling  vanities. 
FIRST  PEASANT.   We  heard  a  noise,   but 

though  we  have  searched  the  house, 
We  have  found  nobody. 

CATHLEEN.  You  are  too  timid. 

For  now   you    are  safe  from    all  the  evil 

times. 

There  is  no  evil  that  can  find  you  here. 
OONA   [entering   hurriedly].   Ochone !   Och- 

one !    The  treasure  room  is  broken  in, 
The    door    stands    open,   and    the    gold    is 
gone. 

[PEASANTS  raise  a  lamentable  cry.] 
CATHLEEN.  Be  silent.          [The  cry  ceases.] 
Have  you  seen  nobody  ? 
OONA.  Ochone ! 


84  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

That  my  good  mistress  should  lose  all  this 

money. 
CATHLEEN.   Let   those   among   you  —  not 

too  old  to  ride  — 

Get  horses  and  search  all  the  country  round, 
I'll  give  a  farm  to  him  who  finds  the  thieves. 
[A  man  uiith  keys  at  his  girdle  has  come  in 
while    she    speaks.     There   is    a   general 
murmur  of  ''The  porter!  the  porter!"] 
PORTER.   Demons  were  here.     I  sat  beside 

the  door 

In  my  stone  niche,  and  two  owls  passed  me  by, 
Whispering  with  human  voices. 
OLD  PEASANT.  God  forsakes  us. 

CATHLEEN.   Old  man,  old  man,  He  never 

closed  a  door 
Unless  one  opened.    I  am  desolate, 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  85 

For  a  most  sad  resolve  wakes  in  my  heart: 
But  I  have  still  my  faith ;  therefore  be  silent ; 
For  surely  He  does  not  forsake  the  world, 
But  stands  before  it  modelling  in  the  clay 
And  moulding  there  His  image.     Age  by  age, 
The  clay  wars  with  His  fingers  and  pleads  hard 
For  its  old,  heavy,  dull  and  shapeless  ease; 
But  sometimes  —  though  His  hand  is  on  it 

still - 
It  moves  awry  and  demon  hordes  are  born. 

[PEASANTS  cross  themselves.} 
Yet  leave  me  now,  for  I  am  desolate, 
I  hear  a  whisper  from  beyond  the  thunder. 
[She  comes  from  the  oratory  door.] 
Yet  stay  an  instant.    When  we  meet  again 
I  may  have  grown  forgetful.    Oona,  take 
These  two  —  the  larder  and  the  dairy  keys. 


86  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

[To  the  PORTER.]    But   take   you   this.    It 

opens  the  small  room 
Of  herbs  for  medicine,  of  hellebore, 
Of  vervain,  monkshood,  plantain,  and  self- 
heal. 

The  book  of  cures  is  on  the  upper  shelf. 
PORTER.  Why   do   you    do   this,    Lady? 

Did  you  see 
Your  coffin  in  a  dream  ? 

CATHLEEN.  Ah,  no,  not  that. 

A  sad  resolve  wakes  in  me.    I  have  heard 
A  sound  of  wailing  in  unnumbered  hovels, 

And  I  must  go  down,  down  —  I  know  not 

g 
where  — 

Pray  for  all   men    and  women   mad  from 

famine ; 
Pray,  you  good  neighbours. 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  87 

[THE  PEASANTS  dl  kneel  COUNTESS  CATH- 
LEEN ascends  the  steps  to  the  door  of  the 
oratory,  and  turning  round  stands  there 
motionless  for  a  little,  and  then  cries  in  a 
loud  voice:] 

Mary,  Queen  of  angels, 
And  all  you  clouds  on  clouds  of  saints,  fare- 
well! 


SCENE  IV 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  91 


SCENE.  A  wood  near  the  Castle,  as  in  SCENE 
II.  The  SPIRITS  pass  one  by  one  carrying 
bags. 

FIRST  SPIRIT.  I'll  never  dance  another 
step,  not  one. 

SECOND  SPIRIT.  Are  all  the  thousand  years 
of  dancing  done  ? 

THIRD  SPIRIT.  How  can  we  dance  after  so 
great  a  sorrow  ? 

FOURTH  SPIRIT.  But  how  shall  we  remem- 
ber it  to-morrow  ? 

FIFTH  SPIRIT.  To  think  of  all  the  things 
that  we  forget. 


92  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

SIXTH  SPIRIT.  That's  why  we  groan  and 

why  our  lids  are  wet. 
[The  SPIRITS  go  out.    A  group  of  PEASANTS 

pass.] 
FIRST  PEASANT.   I  have   seen   silver   and 

copper,  but  not  gold. 

SECOND  PEASANT.    It's  yellow  and  it  shines. 
FIRST  PEASANT.  It's  beautiful. 

The  most  beautiful  thing  under  the  sun, 
That's  what  I've  heard. 
THIRD  PEASANT.   I  have  seen  gold  enough. 
FOURTH  PEASANT.   I  would  not  say  that 

it's  so  beautiful. 
FIRST  PEASANT.  But  doesn't  a  gold  piece 

glitter  like  the  sun  ? 
That's  what   my  father,  who'd  seen  better 

days, 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  93 

Told  me  when  I  was  but  a  little  boy  — 
So    high,  so    high  —  it's    shining    like    the 

sun, 

Round  and  shining,  that  is  what  he  said. 
SECOND  PEASANT.  There's  nothing  in  the 

world  it  cannot  buy. 
FIRST  PEASANT.  They've   bags   and   bags 

of  it. 

[They  go  out.    The  two  MERCHANTS  follow 
silently.] 


SCENE  V 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  97 


SCENE.  The  house  of  SHEMTJS  RUA.  There 
is  an  alcove  at  the  back  with  curtains;  in  it 
a  bed,  and  on  the  bed  is  the  body  of  MARY 
with  candles  round  it.  The  two  MERCHANTS, 
while  tJiey  speak,  put  a  large  book  upon  a 
table,  arrange  money,  and  so  on. 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  Thanks   to   that   lie   I 

told  about  her  ships 

And  that  about  the  herdsman  lying  sick, 
We  shall  be  too  much  thronged  with  souls 

to-morrow. 

SECOND  MERCHANT.  What  has  she  in  her 
coffers  now,  but  mice? 

VOL.  II.  —  H 


98  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

FIRST  MERCHANT.   When  the  night  fell  and 

I  had  shaped  myself 

Into  the  image  of  the  man-headed  owl, 
I  hurried  to  the  cliffs  of  Donegal, 
And  saw  with  all  their  canvas  full  of  wind 
And  rushing  through  the  parti-coloured  sea 
Those  ships  that  bring  the  woman  grain  and 

meal. 
They're  but  three  days  from  us. 

SECOND  MERCHANT.    When  the  dew  rose 
I  hurried  in  like  feathers  to  the  east, 
And  saw  nine  hundred  oxen  driven  through 

Meath, 
With  goads  of  iron.    They're  but  three  days 

from  us. 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  Three  days  for  traffic. 
[PEASANTS  crowd  in  with  TEIG  and  SHEMUS.] 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  99 

SHEMUS.  Come  in,  come  in,  you 

are  welcome. 
That  is  my  wife.    She  mocked  at  my  great 

masters, 
And  would  not  deal  with  them.    Now  there 

she  is ; 

She  does  not  even  know  she  was  a  fool, 
So  great  a  fool  she  was. 

TEIG.  She  would  not  eat 

One  crumb  of  bread  bought  with  our  master's 

money, 

But  lived  on  nettles,  dock,  and  dandelion. 
SHEMUS.  There's  nobody  could  put  into  her 

head 

That  Death  is  the  worst  thing  can  happen  us. 
Though  that  sounds  simple,  for  her  tongue 

grew  rank 


100  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

With  all  the  lies  that  she  had  heard  in  chapel. 
Draw  to  the  curtain.    [TEIG  draws  it.]    You'll 

not  play  the  fool 
While  these  good  gentlemen  are  there  to  save 

you. 
SECOND  MERCHANT.     Since    the    drought 

came  they  drift  about  in  a  throng, 
Like  autumn  leaves  blown  by  the  dreary  winds. 
Come,  deal  — come,  deal. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  Who  will  come 

deal  with  us  ? 
SHEMUS.  They  are  out  of  spirit,  sir,  with 

lack  of  food, 

Save  four  or  five.    Here,  sir,  is  one  of  these; 
The  others  will  gain  courage  in  good  time. 
MIDDLE- AGED  MAN.    I  come  to  deal  — if 
you  give  honest  price. 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  101 

FIRST  MERCHANT  [reading  in  a  'book].  "  John 
Maher,  a  man  of  substance,  with  dull  mind, 
And  quiet  senses  and  un venturous  heart. 
The  angels  think  him  safe."    Two  hundred 

crowns, 

All  for  a  soul,  a  little  breath  of  wind. 
THE  MAN.  I   ask  three  hundred  crowns. 

You  have  read  there 
That  no  mere  lapse  of  days  can  make  me 

yours. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  There  is  something  more 

writ  here  —  "  Often  at  night 
He  is  wakeful  from  a  dread  of  growing  poor, 
And  thereon  wonders  if  there's  any  man 
That  he  could  rob  hi  safety." 

A  PEASANT.  Who'd  have  thought  it  ? 

And  I  was  once  alone  with  him  at  midnight. 


102  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

ANOTHER  PEASANT.  I  will  not  trust  my 
mother  after  this. 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  There  is  this  crack  in 
you  —  two  hundred  crowns. 

A  PEASANT.  That's  plenty  for  a  rogue. 

ANOTHER  PEASANT.    I'd  give  him  nothing. 

SHEMUS.  You'll  get  no  more  —  so  take 
what's  offered  you. 

[A  general  murmur,  during  which  MIDDLE- 
AGED  MAN  takes  money,  and  slips  into 
background,  where  he  sinks  on  to  a  seat.] 

FIRST  MERCHANT.   Has  no  one  got  a  better 

soul  than  that  ? 

If  only  for  the  credit  of  your  parishes, 
Traffic  with  us. 

A  WOMAN.  What  will  you  give  for  mine  ? 

FIRST  MERCHANT  [reading  in  book],    "Soft, 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  103 

handsome,  and  still  young  —  not  much,  I 
think. 

It's  certain  that  the  man  she's  married  to 
Knows  nothing  of  what's  hidden  in  the  jar 
Between  the  hour-glass  and  the  pepper-pot." 
THE  WOMAN.  The  scandalous  book  ! 
FIRST  MERCHANT.    "  Nor  how  when  he's 

away 

At  the  horse  fair  the  hand  that  wrote  what's  hid 

Will  tap  three  times  upon  the  window  pane." 

THE  WOMAN.   And  if  there  is  a  letter,  that 

is  no  reason 

Why  I  should  have  less  money  than  the  others. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  You're  almost  safe,   I 
give  you  fifty  crowns. 

[She  turns  to  go.] 
A  hundred,  then. 


104  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

SHEMUS.  Woman,  have  sense— come,  come. 

Is  this  a  time  to  haggle  at  the  price? 

There,  take  it  up.   There,  there.  That's  right. 

[She  takes  them  and  goes  into  the  crowd.] 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  Come,  deal,  deal,  deal. 

It  is  but  for  charity 

We  buy  such  souls  at  all;    a  thousand  sins 
Made  them  our  Master's  long  before  we  came. 

[ALEEL  enters.] 
ALEEL.  Here,  take  my  soul,  for  I  am  tired 

of  it. 
I  do  not  ask  a  price. 

SHEMUS.  Not  ask  a  price  ? 

How  can  you  sell  your  soul  without  a  price  ? 
I  would  not  listen  to  his  broken  wits ; 
His  love  for  Countess  Cathleen  has  so  crazed 

him, 
He  hardly  understands  what  he  is  saying. 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  105 

ALEEL.  The   trouble   that   has   come   on 

Countess  Cathleen, 

The  sorrow  that  is  in  her  wasted  face, 
The  burden  in  her  eyes,  have  broke  my  wits, 
And  yet  I  know  I'd  have  you  take  my  soul. 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  We  cannot  take  your 
soul,  for  it  is  hers. 

ALEEL.  No,    but    you    must.    Seeing    it 

cannot  help  her, 
I  have  grown  tired  of  it. 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  Begone  from  me ! 

I  may  not  touch  it. 

ALEEL.  Is  your  power  so  small  ? 

And  must  I  bear  it  with  me  all  my  days? 
May  you  be  scorned  and  mocked ! 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  Drag  him  away. 

He  troubles  me. 


106  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

[TEIG and  SHEMUS  lead  ALEEL  into  the  crowd.} 
SECOND  MERCHANT.    His  gaze  has  filled 

me,  brother, 
With  shaking  and  a  dreadful  fear. 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  Lean  forward 

And  kiss  the  circlet  where  my  Master's  lips 
Were  pressed  upon  it  when  he  sent  us  hither ; 
You  shall  have  peace  once  more. 
[SECOND  MERCHANT  kisses  the  gold  circlet 
that  is  about  the  head  of  the  FIRST  MER- 
CHANT.] 

I,  too,  grow  weary, 

But  there  is  something  moving  in  my  heart 
Whereby  I  know  that  what  we  seek  the  most 
Is  drawing  near  —  our  labour  will  soon  end. 
Come,  deal,  deal,  deal,  deal,  deal;  are  you 
all  dumb  ? 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  107 

What,  will  you  keep  me  from  our  ancient 

home, 

And  from  the  eternal  revelry  ? 
SECOND  MERCHANT.  Deal,  deal. 

SHEMUS.  They  say  you  beat  the  woman 

down  too  low. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  I  offer  this  great  price : 

a  thousand  crowns 

For  an  old  woman  who  was  always  ugly. 
[An  old  PEASANT  WOMAN  comes  forward, 

and  lie  takes  up  a  book  and  reads :  ] 
There  is  but  little  set  down  here  against  her. 
"She  has  stolen  eggs  and  fowl  when  times 

were  bad, 
But  when  the  times  grew  better  has  confessed 

it; 

She  never  missed  her  chapel  of  a  Sunday, 


108  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

And  when  she  could,  paid  dues."    Take  up 

your  money. 
OLD  WOMAN.  God    bless    you,  sir.    [She 

screams.] 

Oh,  sir,  a  pain  went  through  me ! 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  That  name  is  like  a  fire 

to  all  damned  souls. 
[Murmur  among  the  PEASANTS,  who  shrink 

back  from  her  as  she  goes  out.] 
A  PEASANT.  How  she  screamed  out ! 
SECOND  PEASANT.    And  maybe  we  shall 

scream  so. 
THIRD  PEASANT.  I  tell  you  there   is   no 

such  place  as  Hell. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  Can  such  a  trifle  turn 

you  from  your  profit  ? 
Come,  deal ;  come,  deal. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  109 

MIDDLE-AGED   MAN.     Master,  I  am  afraid. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.   I  bought  your  soul,  and 

there's  no  sense  in  fear 
Now  the  soul's  gone. 

MIDDLE- AGED  MAN.  Give  me  my  soul  again. 

WOMAN  [going  on  her  knees  and  dinging  to 

MERCHANT.]    And  take  this  money  too, 

and  give  me  mine. 

SECOND  MERCHANT.  Bear  bastards,  drink, 

or  follow  some  wild  fancy; 
For  sighs  and  cries  are  the  soul's  work, 
And  you  have  none.     [Throws  the  woman  off.] 
PEASANT.  Come,  let's  away. 

ANOTHER  PEASANT.  Yes,  yes. 

ANOTHER  PEASANT.  Come  quickly ;  if  that 

woman  had  not  screamed, 
I  would  have  lost  my  soul. 


110  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

ANOTHER  PEASANT.         Come,  come  away. 
[They  turn  to  door,  but  are  stopped  by  shouts 

of    "COUNTESS    CATHLEEN  !    COUNTESS 

CATHLEEN  ! " 
CATHLEEN  [entering].     And  so  you  trade 

once  more  ? 

FIRST  MERCHANT.  In  spite  of  you. 

What  brings  you  here,  saint  with  the  sap- 
phire eyes  ? 
CATHLEEN.  I  come  to  barter  a  soul  for  a 

great  price. 
SECOND  MERCHANT.  What  matter,  if  the 

soul  be  worth  the  price. 
CATHLEEN.  The  people  starve,  therefore  the 

people  go 
Thronging  to  you.    I  hear  a  cry  come  from 

them, 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  111 

And  it  is  in  my  ears  by  night  and  day, 
And  I  would  have  five  hundred  thousand 

crowns 

That  I  may  feed  them  till  the  dearth  go  by. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  It   may   be  the  soul's 

worth  it. 

CATHLEEN.  There  is  more : 

The  souls  that  you  have  bought  must  be  set 

free. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  We  know  of  but  one 

soul  that's  worth  the  price. 
CATHLEEN.   Being  my  own,  it  seems  a  price- 
less thing. 

SECOND  MERCHANT.  You  offer  us  — 
CATHLEEN.  I  offer  my  own  soul. 

A  PEASANT.   Do  not,  do  not,  for  souls  the 
like  of  ours 


112  THE  COUNTESS   CATRLEEN 

Are  not  precious  to  God  as  your  soul  is. 
0 !    What  would  Heaven  do  without  you, 

kdy? 
ANOTHER  PEASANT.  Look  how  their  claws 

clutch  in  their  leathern  gloves. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  Five  hundred  thousand 

crowns;  we  give  the  price. 
The  gold  is  here;   the  souls,  even  while  you 

speak, 
Have  slipped  out  of  our  bond,  because  your 

face 
Has  shed  a  light  on  them   and  filled  their 

hearts. 

But  you  must  sign,  for  we  omit  no  form 
In  buying  a  soul  like  yours. 

SECOND  MERCHANT.      Sign  with  this  quill. 
It  was  a  feather  growing  on  the  cock 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  113 

That  crowed    when    Peter  dared  deny  his 

Master, 

And  all  who  use  it  have  great  honour  in  Hell. 

[CATHLEEN  leans  forward  to  sign.] 

ALEEL  [rushing  forward  and  snatching  the 

parchment  from  her].     Leave  all  things  to 

the  builder  of  the  heavens. 

CATHLEEN.   I  have  no  thoughts;   I  hear  a 

cry  —  a  cry. 

ALEEL  [casting  the  parchment  on  the  ground]. 
I  have  seen  a  vision  under  a  green  hedge, 
A  hedge  of  hips  and  haws  —  men  yet  shall  hear 
The  Archangels  rolling  Satan's  empty  skull 
Over  the  mountain  tops. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  Take  him  away. 

[TEIG  and  SHEMUS  drag  him  roughly  away 
so  that  he  falls  upon  the  floor  among  the 

VOL.   II.  —  I 


114  THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN 

PEASANTS.    CATHLEEN   picks  up  parch- 
ment and  signs,  then  turns  towards  the 
PEASANTS. 
CATHLEEN.  Take  up  the  money,  and  now 

come  with  me ; 

When  we  are  far  from  this  polluted  place 
I  will  give  everybody  money  enough. 

[She  goes  out,  tlie  PEASANTS  crowding  round 
her  and  kissing  her  dress.    ALEEL  and 
the  two  MERCHANTS  are  left  done.] 
SECOND  MERCHANT.  We  must  away  and 

wait  until  she  dies, 

Sitting  above  her  tower  as  two  grey  owls, 
Waiting  as  many  years  as  may  be,  guarding 
Our  precious  jewel;  waiting  to  seize  her  soul. 
FIRST  MERCHANT.  We  need  but  hover  over 
her  head  in  the  air, 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  115 

For  she  has  only  minutes.     When  she  signed 
Her  heart  began  to  break.     Hush,  hush,  I  hear 
The  brazen  door  of  Hell  move  on  its  hinges, 
And  the  eternal  revelry  float  hither 
To  hearten  us. 
SECOND  MERCHANT.      Leap  feathered  on 

the  air 
And  meet  them  with  her  soul  caught  in  your 

claws.       i 

[THEY  rush  out.  ALEEL  crawls  into  the 
middle  of  the  room.  The  twilight  has 
fallen  and  gradually  darkens  as  the  scene 
goes  on.  There  is  a  distant  muttering  of 
thunder  and  a  sound  of  rising  storm.] 
ALEEL.  The  brazen  door  stands  wide,  and 

Balor  comes 
Borne  in  his  heavy  car,  and  demons  have  lifted 


116  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

The  age-weary  eyelids  from  the  eyes  that  of 

old 
Turned  gods  to  stone;  Barach,  the  traitor, 

comes ; 

And  the  lascivious  race,  Cailitin, 
That  cast  a  druid  weakness  and  decay 
Over  Sualtem's  and  old  Dectera's  child; 
And  that  great   king   Hell   first   took   hold 

upon 
When  he  killed  Naisi  and  broke  Deirdre's 

heart, 

And  all  their  heads  are  twisted  to  one  side, 
For  when  they  lived  they  warred  on  beauty 

and  peace 

With  obstinate,  crafty,  sidelong  bitterness. 
[He  moves  about  as  though  the  air  was  full  of 

spirits.    OONA  enters.] 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN          117 

Crouch  down,  old  heron,  out  of  the  blind 

storm. 
OONA.  Where  is  the  Countess  Cathleen? 

All  this  day 
Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  when  for  a 

moment 
Her    hand    was    laid    upon    my    hand   it 

trembled, 
And    now   I    do    not    know   where   she   is 

gone. 
ALEEL.   Cathleen  has  chosen  other  friends 

than  us. 

Demons  are  out,  old  heron. 
OONA.  God  guard  her  soul. 

ALEEL.  She's  bartered  it  away  this  very 
hour, 


118  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

As  though  we  two  were  never  in  the  world. 

And  they  are  rising  through  the  hollow  world. 

[He  points  downwards.] 

First,  Orchill,  her  pale,  beautiful  head  alive, 
Her  body  shadowy  as  vapour  drifting 
Under  the  dawn,  for  she  who  awoke  desire 
Has  but  a  heart  of  blood  when  others  die; 
About  her  is  a  vapoury  multitude 
Of  women  alluring  devils  with  soft  laughter 
Behind  her  a  host  heat  of  the  blood  made  sin, 
But  all  the  little  pink-white  nails  have  grown 
To  be  great  talons. 

[He  seizes  OONA  and  drags  her  into  the 
middle  of  the  room  and  points  downward 
with  vehement  gestures.  The  wind  roars.] 

They  begin  a  song, 
And  there  is  still  some  music  on  their  tongues. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATULEEN  119 

OONA  [casting  lierself  face  downward  on  the 

floor}. 

0,  Maker  of  all,  protect  her  from  the  demons, 
And  if  a  soul  must  need  be  lost,  take  mine. 
[ALEEL  kneels  beside  her,  but  does  not  seem 
to  hear  her  words.    The  PEASANTS  return. 
They  carry  the  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  and 
lay  her  upon  the  ground  before  OONA  and 
ALEEL.    She  lies  there  as  if  dead.] 
OONA.   0,  that  so  many  pitchers  of  rough 

clay 

Should  prosper  and  the  porcelain  break  hi  two  ! 

[She  kisses  the  hands  of  CATHLEEN.] 

A  PEASANT.  We  were  under  the  tree  where 

the  path  turns, 

When  she  grew  pale  as  death  and  fainted 
away. 


120  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

And  while  we  bore  her  hither,  cloudy  gusts 

Blackened  the  world  and  shook  us  on  our  feet ; 

Draw  the  great  bolt,  for  no  man  has  beheld 

So  black,  bitter,  blinding,  and  sudden  a  storm. 

[One  who  is  near  the  door  draws  the  bolt.] 

CATHLEEN.    0,    hold    me,    and    hold    me 

tightly,  for  the  storm 
Is  dragging  me  away. 
[OoNA  takes  her  in  her  arms.    A  WOMAN 

begins  to  wail.] 
PEASANT.  Hush ! 

PEASANTS.  Hush ! 

PEASANT  WOMEN.  Hush ! 

OTHER  PEASANT  WOMEN.  Hush ! 

CATHLEEN  [half  rising].    Lay  all  the  bags 

of  money  in  a  heap, 
And  when  I  am  gone,  old  Oona,  share  them  out 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN          121 

To  every  man  and  woman :  judge,  and  give 
According  to  their  needs. 

A  PEASANT  WOMAN.  And  will  she  give 
Enough  to  keep  my  children  through  the 
dearth  ? 

ANOTHER  PEASANT  WOMAN.  0,   Queen   of 

Heaven,  and  all  you  blessed  saints, 
Let  us  and  ours  be  lost,  so  she  be  shriven. 

CATHLEEN.   Bend  down  your  faces,  Oona 

and  Aleel ; 

I  gaze  upon  them  as  the  swallow  gazes 
Upon  the  nest  under  the  eave,  before 
She  wander  the  loud  waters.     Do  not  weep 
Too  great  a  while,  for  there  is  many  a  candle 
On  the  High  Altar,  though  one  fall.    Aleel, 
Who  sang  about  the  dancers  of  the  woods 
That  know  not  the  hard  burden  of  the  world, 


122  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

Having  but  breath  in  their  kind  bodies,  farewell ! 
And  farewell,  Oona,  you  who  played  with  me, 
And  bore  me  in  your  arms  about  the  house 
When  I  was  but  a  child  and  therefore  happy, 
Therefore  happy,  even  like  those  that  dance. 
The  storm  is  in  my  hair,  and  I  must  go. 

[She  dies.] 

OONA.   Bring  me  the  looking-glass. 
[A  WOMAN  brings  it  to  her  out  of  the  inner 
room,  OONA  holds  it  over  the  lips  of  CATH- 
LEEN.   All  is  silent  for  a  moment.    And 
then  she  speaks  in  a  half  scream. 

0,  she  is  dead  ! 
A  PEASANT.  She  was  the  great  white  lily 

of  the  world. 

A  PEASANT.  She  was  more  beautiful  than 
the  pale  stars. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN          123 

AN  OLD  PEASANT  WOMAN.  The  little  plant 

I  loved  is  broken  in  two. 
[ALEEL  takes  looking-glass  from  OONA  and 

flings  it  upon  the  floor  so  that  it  is  broken 

in  many  pieces.] 
ALEEL.   I  shatter  you  in  fragments,  for  the 

face 

That  brimmed  you  up  with  beauty  is  no  more : 
And  die,  dull  heart,  for  she  whose  mournful 

words 

Made  you  a  living  spirit  has  passed  away 
And  left  you  but  a  ball  of  passionate  dust, 
And  you,  proud  earth  and  plumy  sea,  fade 

out ! 

For  you  may  hear  no  more  her  faltering  feet, 
But  are  left  lonely  amid  the  clamorous  war 
Of  angels  upon  devils. 


124  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

[He  stands  up;  almost  every  one  is  kneeling, 
but  it  has  grown  so  dark  that  only  confused 
forms  can  be  seen.] 

And  I  who  weep 

Call  curses  on  you,  Time  and  Fate  and  Change, 
And  have  no  excellent  hope  but  the  great  hour 
When  you  shall  plunge  headlong  through 

bottomless  space. 
[A  flash  of  lightning  followed  immediately  by 

thunder.] 
A  PEASANT  WOMAN.  Pull    him    upon    his 

knees  before  his  curses 
Have  plucked  thunder  and  lightning  on  our 

heads. 
ALEEL.  Angels   and   devils   clash   in   the 

middle  air, 
And  brazen  swords  clang  upon  brazen  helms. 


THE  COUNTESS   CATHLEEN  125 

[^4.  flash  of  lightning  followed  immediately 

by  thunder.] 

Yonder  a  bright  spear,  cast  out  of  a  sling, 
Has  torn  through  Balor's  eye,  and  the  dark 

clans 
Fly  screaming  as  they  fled  Moytura  of  old. 

[Everything  is  lost  in  darkness.] 
AN  OLD  MAN.  The  Almighty  wrath  at  our 

great  weakness  and  sin 

Has  blotted  out  the  world,  and  we  must  die. 

[The  darkness  is  broken  by  a  visionary  light. 

The  PEASANTS  seem  to  be  kneeling  upon 

the  rocky  slope  of  a  mountain,  and  vapour 

full  of  storm  and  ever-changing  light  is 

sweeping  above  them  and  behind  them. 

r 

Half  in  the  light,  half  in  the  shadow,  stand 
armed  angels;  their  armour  is  old  and  worn, 


126  THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN 

and  their  drawn  swords  dim  and  dinted. 
They  stand  as  if  upon  the  air  in  formation 
of  battle  and  look  downward  with  stern 
faces.  The  PEASANTS  cast  themselves  on 
the  ground.] 
ALEEL.  Look  no  more  on  the  half  closed 

gates  of  Hell, 
But  speak  to  me,  whose  mind  is  smitten  of 

God, 

That  it  may  be  no  more  with  mortal  things, 
And  tell  of  her  who  lies  there. 

[He  seizes  one  of  the  ANGELS.] 
Till  you  speak, 

You  shall  not  drift  into  eternity. 
THE  ANGEL.  The  light  beats  down ;    the 

gates  of  pearl  are  wide, 
And  she  is  passing  to  the  floor  of  peace, 


THE  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  127 

And  Mary  of  the  seven  times  wounded  heart 
Has  kissed  her  lips,  and  the  long  blessed  hair 
Has  fallen  on  her  face;   the  Light  of  Lights 
Looks  always  on  the  motive,  not  the  deed, 
The  Shadow  of  Shadows  on  the  deed  alone. 

[ALEEL  releases  the  ANGEL  and  kneels.] 
OONA.  Tell  them  who  walk  upon  the  floor 

of  peace 

That  I  would  die  and  go  to  her  I  love ; 
The  years  like  great  black  oxen  tread  the 

world, 

And  God  the  herdsman  goads  them  on  behind, 
And  I  am  broken  by  their  passing  feet. 

[A  sound  of  far-off  horns  seems  to  come  from 
the  heart  of  tJw  Light.  The  vision  melts 
away,  and  the  forms  of  the  kneeling  PEAS- 
ANTS appear  faintly  in  the  darkness.] 


THE   LAND    OF   HEART'S 
DESIKE 


0  Rose,  thou  art  sick.  —  WILLIAM  BLAKE. 


To  FLORENCE  FARB 


MAURTEEN  BRUIN. 
BRIDGET  BRUIN. 
SHAWN  BRUIN. 
MARY  BRUIN. 
FATHER  HART. 
A  FAERY  CHILD. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  the  Barony  of  Kilmacowcn,  in  the 
County  of  Sligo,  and  at  a  remote  time. 


SCENE.  A  room  with  a  hearth  on  the  floor  in 
the  middle  of  a  deep  alcove  to  the  Right. 
There  are  benches  in  the  alcove  and  a  table; 
and  a  crucifix  on  the  wall.  The  alcove  is 
full  of  a  glow  of  light  from  the  fire.  There 
is  an  open  door  facing  the  audience  to  the  Left, 
and  to  the  left  of  this  a  bench.  Through 
the  door  one  can  see  the  forest.  It  is  night, 
but  the  moon  or  a  late  sunset  glimmers  through 
the  trees  and  carries  the  eye  far  off  into  a 
vague,  mysterious  world.  MAURTEEN  BRUIN, 
SHAWN  BRUIN,  and  BRIDGET  BRUIN  sit  in 
the  alcove  at  the  table  or  about  the  fire.  They 
are  dressed  in  the  costume  of  some  remote 

133 


134      THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

time,  and  near  them  sits  an  old  priest,  FATHER 
HART.  He  may  be  dressed  as  a  friar.  There 
is  food  and  drink  upon  the  table.  MARY 
BRUIN  stands  by  the  door  reading  a  book. 
If  she  looks  up  she  can  see  through  the  door 
into  the  wood. 

BRIDGET.  Because  I  bid  her  clean  the  pots 

for  supper. 
She  took  that  old  book  down  out  of  the 

thatch, 

She  has  been  doubled  over  it  ever  since. 
We  should  be  deafened  by  her  groans  and 

moans, 

Had  she  to  work  as  some  do,  Father  Hart, 
Get  up  at  dawn  like  me  and  mend  and  scour ; 
Or  ride  abroad  in  the  boisterous  night  like 

you, 


THE  LAND   OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     135 

The  pyx  and  blessed  bread  under  your  arm. 

SHAWN.  Mother,  you  are  too  cross. 

BRIDGET.  You've  married  her, 

And  fear  to  vex  her,  and  so  take  her  part. 

MAURTEEN  [to  FATHER*  HART].    It  is  but 
right  that  youth  should  side  with  youth; 
She  quarrels  with  my  wife  a  bit  at  times, 
And  is  too  deep  just  now  in  the  old  book ! 
But  do  not  blame  her  greatly ;  she  will  grow 
As  quiet  as  a  puff-ball  hi  a  tree 
When  but  the  moons  of  marriage  dawn  and  die 
For  half  a  score  of  times. 

FATHER  HART.  Their  hearts  are  wild, 

As  be  the  hearts  of  birds,  till  children  come. 

BRIDGET.  She  would  not  mind  the  kettle, 

milk  the  cow, 
Or  even  lay  the  knives  and  spread  the  cloth. 


136      THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

SHAWN.   Mother,  if  only  — 
MAURTEEN.       Shawn,  this  is  half  empty; 
Go,  bring  up  the  best  bottle  that  we  have. 
FATHER  HART.  I  never  saw  her  read  a 

book  before, 
What  can  it  be  ? 
MAURTEEN  [to  SHAWN].     What    are    you 

waiting  for  ? 
You  must  not  shake  it  when  you  draw  the 

cork; 

It's  precious  wine,  so  take  your  time  about  it. 

[SHAWN  goes.] 
[To  PRIEST.]    There  was  a  Spaniard  wrecked 

at  Ocris  Head, 
When  I  was  young,  and  I  have  still  some 

bottles. 
He  cannot  bear  to  hear  her  blamed ;  the  book 


THE  LAND   OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     137 

Has  lain  up  in  the  thatch  these  fifty  years, 
My  father  told  me  my  grandfather  wrote  it, 
And  killed  a  heifer  for  the  binding  of  it  — 
But  supper's  spread,  and  we  can  talk  and 

eat. 

It  was  little  good  he  got  out  of  the  book, 
Because  it   filled  his  house  with  rambling 

fiddlers, 

And  rambling  ballad-makers  and  the  like. 
The  griddle-bread  is  there  in  front  of  you. 
Colleen,  what  is  the  wonder  in  that  book, 
That  you  must  leave  the   bread  to  cool? 

Had  I 

Or  had  my  father  read  or  written  books, 
There  was  no  stocking  stuffed  with  yellow 

guineas 
To  come  when  I  am  dead  to  Shawn  and  you. 


138      THE  LAND   OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

FATHER  HART.  You  should  not  fill  your 

head  with  foolish  dreams. 
What  are  you  reading  ? 

MARY.  How  a  Princess  Edane, 

A  daughter  of  a  King  of  Ireland,  heard 
A  voice  singing  on  a  May  Eve  like  this, 
And  followed,  half  awake  and  half  asleep, 
Until  she  came  into  the  Land  of  Faery, 
Where  nobody  gets  old  and  godly  and  grave, 
Where  nobody  gets  old  and  crafty  and  wise, 
Where  nobody  gets  old  and  bitter  of  tongue. 
And  she  is  still  there,  busied  with  a  dance, 
Deep  in  the  dewy  shadow  of  a  wood, 
Or  where  stars  walk  upon  a  mountain-top. 

MAURTEEN.  Persuade  the  colleen  to  put 

down  the  book ; 
My  grandfather  would  mutter  just  such  things, 


THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     139 

And  he  was  no  judge  of  a  dog  or  a  horse, 
And  any  idle  boy  could  blarney  him ; 
Just  speak  your  mind. 

FATHER  HART.   Put  it  away,  my  colleen. 
God  spreads  the  heavens  above  us  like  great 

wings, 

And  gives  a  little  round  of  deeds  and  days, 
And  then  come  the  wrecked  angels  and  set 

snares, 
And  bait  them  with  light  hopes  and  heavy 

dreams, 
Until  the  heart   is   puffed   with   pride  and 

goes 
Half  shuddering  and  half  joyous  from  God's 


peace ; 


And  it  was  some  wrecked  angel,  blind  with 
tears, 


140      THE  LAND  OF  BEAUT'S  DESIRE 

Who  flattered  Edane's  heart  with  merry  words. 
My  colleen,  I  have  seen  some  other  girls 
Restless  and  ill  at  ease,  but  years  went  by 
And  they  grew  like  their  neighbours  and  were 

glad 

In  minding  children,  working  at  the  churn, 
And  gossiping  of  weddings  and  of  wakes ; 
For  life  moves  out  of  a  red  flare  of  dreams 
Into  a  common  light  of  common  hours, 
Until  old  age  bring  the  red  flare  again. 

MAURTEEN.  That's  true  —  but   she's  too 
young  to  know  it's  true. 

BRIDGET.  She's  old  enough  to  know  that 

it  is  wrong 
To  mope  and  idle. 

MAURTEEN.  I've  little  blame  for  her; 

She's  dull  when  my  big  son  is  in  the  fields, 


THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     141 

And  that    and    maybe   this  good  woman's 

\ 
tongue 

Have  driven  her  to  hide  among  her  dreams 
Like  children  from  the  dark  under  the  bed- 
clothes. 
BRIDGET.  She'd  never  do  a  turn  if  I  were 

silent. 
MAURTEEN.  And  maybe  it  is  natural  upon 

May  Eve 
To  dream  of  the  good  people.    But  tell  me, 

girl, 

If  you've  the  branch  of  blessed  quicken  wood 
That  women  hang  upon  the  post  of  the 

door 

That  they  may  send  good  luck  into  the  house  ? 
Remember  they  may  steal  new-married  brides 
After  the  fall  of  twilight  on  May  Eve, 


112     THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

Or  what  old  women  mutter  at  the  fire 

Is  but  a  pack  of  lies. 
FATHER  HART.  It  may  be  truth. 

We  do  not  know  the  limit  of  those  powers 

God  has  permitted  to  the  evil  spirits 

For  some  mysterious  end.    You  have  done 
right  [to  MARY]. 

It's  well  to  keep  old  innocent  customs  up. 
[MARY  BRUIN  has  taken  a  bough  of  quicken 
wood  from  a  seat  and  hung  it  on  a  nail 
in  the  door-post.    A  girl  child  strangely 
dressed,  perhaps  in  faery  green,  comes  out 
of  the  wood  and  takes  it  away.] 
MARY.   I  had  no  sooner  hung  it  on  the  nail 

Before  a  child  ran  up  out  of  the  wind ; 

She  has  caught  it  in  her  hand  and  fondled  it ; 

Her  face  is  pale  as  water  before  dawn. 


THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     143 

FATHER  HART.  Whose  child  can  this  be  ? 

MAURTEEN.  No  one's  child  at  all. 

She  often  dreams  that  some  one  has  gone  by, 
When  there  was  nothing  but  a  puff  of  wind. 

MARY.  They  have  taken  away  the  blessed 

quicken  wood, 

They  will  not  bring  good  luck  into  the  house ; 
Yet  I  am  glad  that  I  was  courteous  to  them, 
For  are  not  they,  likewise,  children  of  God  ? 

FATHER  HART.  Colleen,  they  are  the  chil- 
dren of  the  fiend, 

And  they  have  power  until  the  end  of  Time, 
When  God  shall  fight  with  them  a  great 

pitched  battle 
And  hack  them  into  pieces. 

MARY.  He  will  smile, 

Father,  perhaps,  and  open  His  great  door. 


144      THE  LAND  OF  HEARf  8  DESIRE 

FATHER  HART.   Did  but  the  lawless  angels 

see  that  door, 

They  would  fall,  slain  by  everlasting  peace 
And  when  such  angels  knock  upon  our  doors, 
Who  goes  with  them  must  drive  through  the 

same  storm. 

[A  thin  old  arm  comes  round  the  door-post 
and  knocks  and  beckons.  It  is  clearly 
seen  in  the  silvery  light.  MARY  BRUIN 
goes  to  door  and  stands  in  it  for  a  moment. 
MAURTEEN  BRUIN  is  busy  filling  FATHER 
HART'S  plate.  BRIDGET  BRUIN  stirs  the 
fire.] 
MARY  [coming  to  table].  There's  somebody 

out  there  that  beckoned  me 
And  raised  her  hand  as  though  it  held  a  cup, 
And  she  was  drinking  from  it,  so  it  may  be 


THE  LAND   OF  HEART'S  DESIEE     145 

That  she  is  thirsty.     [She  takes  milk  from  tlie 

table  and  carries  it  to  the  door.] 
FATHER  HART.  That  will  be  the  child 

That  you  would  have  it  was  no  child  at  all. 
BRIDGET.  And   maybe,   Father,   what   he 

said  was  true ; 

For  there  is  not  another  night  in  the  year 
So  wicked  as  to-night. 

MAURTEEN.  Nothing  can  harm  us 

While  the  good  Father's  underneath  our  roof. 

MARY.   A  little  queer  old  woman  dressed 

in  green. 
BRIDGET.  The  good  people  beg  for  milk 

and  fire, 
Upon  May  Eve  —  woe  to  the   house   that 

gives, 
For  they  have  power  upon  it  for  a  year. 


VOL.   II. 


146      THE  LAND   OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

MAURTEEN.   Hush,  woman,  hush  ! 

BRIDGET.  She's  given  milk  away. 

I  knew  she  would  bring  evil  on  the  house. 

MAURTEEN.  Who  was  it  ? 

MARY.  Both  the  tongue  and  face 

were  strange. 

MAURTEEN.   Some  strangers  came  last  week 

to  Clover  Hill ; 
She  must  be  one  of  them. 

BRIDGET.  I  am  afraid. 

FATHER  HART.     The  Cross  will  keep  all 

evil  from  the  house 
While  it  hangs  there. 

MAURTEEN.    Come,  sit  beside  me,  colleen, 
And  put  away  your  dreams  of  discontent, 
For  I  would  have  you  light  up  my  last  days, 
Like  the  good  glow  of  the  turf ;  and  when  I  die 


THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     147 

You'll  be  the  wealthiest  hereabout,  for,  col- 
leen, 

I  have  a  stocking  full  of  yellow  guineas 

Hidden  away  where  nobody  can  find  it. 
BRIDGET.  You  are  the  fool  of  every  pretty 
face, 

And  I  must  spare  and  pinch  that  my  son's 
wife 

May  have  all  kinds  of  ribbons  for  her  head. 
MAURTEEN.   Do  not  be  cross ;  she  is  a  right 
good  girl ! 

The  butter  is  by  your  elbow,  Father  Hart, 

My  colleen,  have  not  Fate  and  Time  and 
Change 

Done  well  for  me  and  for  old  Bridget  there? 

We  have  a  hundred  acres  of  good  land, 

And  sit  beside  each  other  at  the  fire. 


148      THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

I  have  this  reverend  Father  for  my  friend, 
I  look  upon  your  face  and  my  son's  face  — 
We've  put  his  plate  by  yours  —  and  here  he 

comes, 
And  brings  with  him  the  only  thing  we  have 

lacked, 
Abundance  of  good  wine.    [SHAWN  comes  in.] 

Stir  up  the  fire, 

And  put  new  turf  upon  it  till  it  blaze. 
To  watch  the  turf-smoke  coiling  from  the  fire,^ 
And  feel  content  and  wisdom  in  your  heart,  1 
This  is  the  best  of  life;   when  we  are  young  I 
We  long  to  tread  a  way  none  trod  before, 
But  find  the  excellent  old  way  through  love, 
And  through  the  care  of  children,  to  the  hour 
For   bidding   Fate   and   Time   and   Change 

good-bye. 


THE  LAND   OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     149 

[MARY  takes  a  sod  of  turf  from  the  fire  and 
goes  out  through  the  door.     SHAWN  follows 
her  and  meets  her  coming  in.] 
SHAWN.  What  is  it  draws  you  to  the  chill 

o'  the  wood  ? 
There  is  a  light   among  the  stems  of  the 

trees 
That  makes  one  shiver. 

MARY.  A  little  queer  old  man 

Made  me  a  sign  to  show  he  wanted  fire 
To  light  his  pipe. 

BRIDGET.  You've  given  milk  and  fire, 

Upon  the  unluckiest  night  of  the  year,  and 

brought, 

For  all  you  know,  evil  upon  the  house. 
Before  you  married  you  were  idle  and  fine, 
And  went  about  with  ribbons  on  your  head ; 


150      THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

And  now  —  no,   Father,   I   will   speak   my 

mind, 
She  is  not  a  fitting  wife  for  any  man  — 

SHAWN.  Be  quiet,  Mother ! 

MAURTEEN.  You  are  much  too  cross. 

MARY.  What  do  I  care  if  I  have  given  this 

house, 

Where  I  must  hear  all  day  a  bitter  tongue, 
Into  the  power  of  faeries ! 

BRIDGET.  You  know  well 

How  calling  the  good  people  by  that  name, 
Or  talking  of  them  overmuch  at  all, 
May  bring  all  kinds  of  evil  on  the  house. 

MARY.  Come,  faeries,  take  me  out  of  this 

dull  house  I 

Let  me  have  all  the  freedom  I  have  lost ; 
Work  when  I  will  and  idle  when  I  will ! 


THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     151 

Faeries,  come  take  me  out  of  this  dull  world, 
For  I  would  ride  with  you  upon  the  wind. 
Run  on  the  top  of  the  dishevelled  tide, 
And  dance  upon  the  mountains  like  a  flame. 
FATHER   HART.    You    cannot    know   the 

meaning  of  your  words. 
MARY.  Father,  I  am  right  weary  of  four 

tongues : 

A  tongue  that  is  too  crafty  and  too  wise, 
A  tongue  that  is  too  godly  and  too  grave, 
A  tongue  that  is  more  bitter  than  the  tide, 
And  a  kind  tongue  too  full  of  drowsy  love, 
Of  drowsy  love  and  my  captivity. 

[SHAWN  BRUIN  leads  her  to  a  seat  at  the 

left  of  tlie  door] 

SHAWN.   Do  not  blame  me;    I  often  lie 
awake 


152      THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

Thinking  that  all  things  trouble  your  bright 

head. 

How  beautiful  it  is  — your  broad  pale  fore- 
head 

Under  a  cloudy  blossoming  of  hair ! 
Sit  down  beside  me  here  —  these  are  too  old, 
And  have  forgotten  they  were  ever  young. 
MARY.   0,  you  are  the  great  door-post  of 

this  house, 

And  I  the  branch  of  blessed  quicken  wood, 
And  if  I  could  I'd  hang  upon  the  post, 
Till  I  had  brought  good  luck  into  the  house. 
[She  would  put  her  arms  about  him,  but 
looks  shyly  at  the  priest  and  lets  her  arms 
fall] 

FATHER  HART.  My  daughter,  take  his  hand ; 
by  love  alone 


THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     153 

God  binds  us  to  Himself  and  to  the  hearth, 
That  shuts  us  from  the  waste  beyond  His 

peace 
From  maddening  freedom  and  bewildering 

light. 
SHAWN.  Would  that  the  world  were  mine 

to  give  it  you, 

And  not  its  quiet  hearths  alone,  but  even 
All  that  bewilderment  of  light  and  freedom. 
If  you  would  have  it. 

MARY.  I  would  take  the  world 

And  break  it  into  pieces  in  my  hands 
To  see  you  smile  watching  it  crumble  away. 
SHAWN.  Then  I  would  mould  a  world  of 

fire  and  dew, 

With  no  one  bitter,  grave,  or  over  wise, 
And  nothing  marred  or  old  to  do  you  wrong, 


154      THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

And  crowd  the  enraptured  quiet  of  the  sky 
With  candles  burning  to  your  lonely  face. 
MARY.   Your  looks  are  all  the  candles  that 

I  need. 
SHAWN.  Once  a  fly  dancing  in  a  beam  of 

the  sun, 

Or  the  light  wind  blowing  out  of  the  dawn, 
Could  fill  your  heart  with  dreams  none  other 

knew, 

But  now  the  indissoluble  sacrament 
Has  mixed  your  heart  that  was  most  proud 

and  cold 
With  my  warm  heart  for  ever;   the  sun  and 

moon 
Must  fade  and  heaven  be  rolled  up  like  a 

scroll ; 
But  your  white  spirit  still  walk  by  my  spirit. 


THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     155 

[A  Voice  singing  in  the  wood.] 
MAURTEEN.  There's    some    one    singing. 

Why,  it's  but  a  child. 
It  sang,   "The  lonely  of  heart  is  withered 

away." 
A  strange  song  for  a  child,  but  she  sings 

sweetly, 
Listen,  listen !    [Goes  to  door.] 

MARY.  0,  cling  close  to  me, 

Because  I  have  said  wicked  things  to-night. 
THE  VOICE.  The  wind  blows  out  of  the 

gates  of  the  day, 

The  wind  blows  over  the  lonely  of  heart, 
And  the  lonely  of  heart  is  withered  away. 
While  the  faeries  dance  in  a  place  apart, 
Shaking  their  milk-white  feet  in  a  ring, 
Tossing  their  milk-white  arms  in  the  air ; 


156      THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

For  they  hear  the  wind  laugh  and  murmur 

and  sing 

Of  a  land  where  even  the  old  are  fair, 
And  even  the  wise  are  merry  of  tongue; 
But  I  heard  a  reed  of  Coolaney  say, 
"When  the  wind  has  laughed  and  murmured 

and  sung 

The  lonely  of  heart  is  withered  away  !" 
MAURTEEN.  Being  happy,  I  would  have  all 

others  happy, 
So  I  will  bring  her  in  out  of  the  cold. 

[He  brings  in  the  faery  child.] 
THE  CHILD.  I  tire  of  winds  and  waters  and 

pale  lights. 
MAURTEEN.  And   that's   no   wonder,    for 

when  night  has  fallen 

The  wood's  a  cold  and  a  bewildering  place; 
But  you  are  welcome  here. 


THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     157 

THE  CHILD.  I  am  welcome  here. 

For  when  I  tire  of  this  warm  little  house, 
There  is  one  here  that  must  away,  away. 

MAURTEEN.  0,  listen  to  her  dreamy  and 

strange  talk. 
Are  you  not  cold  ? 

THE  CHILD.    I  will  crouch  down  beside  you, 
For  I  have  run  a  long,  long  way  this  night. 

BRIDGET.    You  have  a  comely  shape. 

MAURTEEN.  Your  hair  is  wet. 

BRIDGET.   I'll  warm  your  chilly  feet. 

MAURTEEN.  You  have  come  indeed 

A  long,  long  way  —  for  I  have  never  seen 
Your  pretty  face  —  and  must  be  tired  and 

:••* 

hungry, 

Here  is  some  bread  and  wine. 
THE  CHILD.  The  wine  is  bitter. 


158      THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

Old   mother,  have   you  no  sweet   food   foi 

me? 
BRIDGET.   I   have   some   honey   [she   goes 

into  the  next  room]. 

MAURTEEN.  You  have  coaxing  ways, 

The  mother  was  quite  cross  before  you  came. 

[BRIDGET  returns  with  the  honey  and  Jills  a 

porringer  with  milk. 
BRIDGET.    She  is  the  child  of  gentle  people ; 

look 

At  her  white  hands  and  at  her  pretty  dress. 
I've  brought  you  some  new  milk,  but  wait  a 

while 

And  I  will  put  it  to  the  fire  to  warm, 
For  things  well  fitted  for  poor  folk  like  us 
Would  never  please  a  high-born  child  like 
you. 


THE  LAND   OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     159 

THE  CHILD.  From  dawn,  when  you  must 

blow  the  fire  ablaze, 
You    work   your   fingers   to   the   bone,   old 

mother. 

The  young  may  lie  in  bed  and  dream  and  hope, 

But  you  must  work  your  fingers  to  the  bone 

Because  your  heart  is  old. 

BRIDGET.  The  young  are  idle. 

THE  CHILD.   Your    memories    have    made 

you  wise,  old  father, 
The  young  must  sigh  through  many  a  dream 

and  hope, 

But  you  are  wise  because  your  heart  is  old. 
[BRIDGET  gives  her  more  bread  and  honey.] 
MAURTEEN.  0,  who  would  think  to  find  so 

young  a  girl 
Loving  old  age  and  wisdom  ? 


160      THE  LAND  OF  HEARTS  DESIRE 

THE  CHILD.  No  more,  mother. 

MAURTEEN.  What  a  small  bite !    The  milk 

is  ready  now  [hands  it  to  her]. 
What  a  small  sip 

THE  CHILD.      Put  on  my  shoes,  old  mother. 
Now  I  would  like  to  dance,  now  I  have  eaten. 
The  reeds  are  dancing  by  Coolaney  lake, 
And  I  would  like  to  dance  until  the  reeds 
And  the  white  waves  have  danced  themselves 

asleep. 

[BRIDGET  puts  on  the  shoes,  and  the  CHILD 

is  about  to  dance,  but  suddenly  sees  the 

crucifix  and  shrieks  and  covers  her  eyes.] 

What  is  that  ugly  thing  on  the  black  cross  ? 

FATHER  HART.  You    cannot    know    how 

naughty  your  words  are ! 
That  is  our  Blessed  Lord. 


THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     161 

THE  CHILD.  Hide  it  away. 

BRIDGET.  I  have  begun  to  be  afraid  again. 
THE  CHILD.  Hide  it  away  ! 

MAURTEEN.  That  would  be  wickedness ! 
BRIDGET.  That  would  be  sacrilege ! 
THE  CHILD.  The  tortured  thing  ! 

Hide  it  away ! 

MAURTEEN.      Her  parents  are  to  blame. 
FATHER  HART.  That  is  the  image  of  the 

Son  of  God. 
THE  CHILD  [caressing  him].  Hide  it  away, 

hide  it  away ! 
MAURTEEN.  No,  no. 

FATHER  HART.  Because  you  are  so  young 

and  like  a  bird, 
That  must  take  fright  at  every  stir  of  the 

leaves, 
I  will  go  take  it  down. 

TOL.   II.  — M 


162      THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

THE  CHILD.  Hide  it  away  ! 

And  cover  it  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind ! 
[FATHER  HART  takes  crucifix  from  wall  and 

carries  it  towards  inner  room.} 
FATHER  HART.  Since  you  have  come  into 

this  barony, 

I  will  instruct  you  in  our  blessed  faith ; 
And  being  so  keen-witted  you'll  soon  learn. 
[To  the  others.]  We  must  be  tender  to  all1 

budding  things, 

Our  Maker  let  no  thought  of  Calvary- 
Trouble  the  morning  stars  in  their  first  song. 
[Puts  crucifix  in  inner  room.} 
THE  CHILD.  Here  is  level  ground  for  danc- 
ing ;  I  will  dance. 

[Sings.]  "The  wind  blows  out  of  the  gates  of 
the  day, 


THE  LAND   OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     163 

The  wind  blows  over  the  lonely  of  heart, 
And  the  lonely  of  heart  is  withered  away." 

[She  dances.] 
MARY  [to  SHAWN].  Just    now    when    she 

came  near  I  thought  I  heard 
Other  small  steps  beating  upon  the  floor, 
And  a  faint  music  blowing  in  the  wind, 
Invisible  pipes  giving  her  feet  the  tune. 
SHAWN.  I  heard  no  steps  but  hers. 
MARY.  I  hear  them  now, 

The    unholy    powers    are    dancing    in    the 

house. 
MAURTEEN.  Come  over  here,  and  if  you 

promise  me, 

Not  to  talk  wickedly  of  holy  things, 
I  will  give  you  something. 
THE  CHILD.  Bring  it  me,  old  father. 


164      THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

MAURTEEN.  Here  are  some  ribbons  that 

I  bought  in  the  town 
For  my  son's  wife  —  but  she  will  let  me  give 

them 
To  tie  up  that  wild  hair  the  winds  have 

tumbled. 

THE  CHILD.  Come,  tell  me,  do  you  love  me  ? 
MAURTEEN.  Yes,  I  love  you. 

THE  CHILD.  Ah,  but  you  love  this  fireside. 

Do  you  love  me  ? 
FATHER  HART.  When  the  Almighty  puts 

so  great  a  share 

Of  His  own  ageless  youth  into  a  creature, 
To  look  is  but  to  love. 
THE  CHILD.  But  you  love  Him  ? 

BRIDGET.  She  is  blaspheming. 
THE  CHILD.  And  do  you  love  me  too  ? 


THE  LAND   OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     165 

MARY.   I  do  not  know. 

THE  CHILD.    You   love   that   young  man 

there, 

Yet  I  could  make  you  ride  upon  the  winds, 
Run  on  the  top  of  the  dishevelled  tide, 
And  dance  upon  the  mountains  like  a  flame. 
MARY.  Queen  of  Angels  and  kind  saints 

defend  us ! 
Some  dreadful  thing  will  happen.    A  while 

ago 

She  took  away  the  blessed  quicken  wood. 
FATHER  HART.  You  fear  because  of  her 

unmeasured  prattle ; 
She  knows  no  better.    Child,  how  old  are 

you? 

THE  CHILD.  When  whiter  sleep  is  abroad 
my  hair  grows  then, 


166       THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

My  feet  unsteady.    When  the  leaves  awaken 
My  mother  carries  me  in  her  golden  arms ; 
I'll  soon  put  on  my  womanhood  and  marry 
The  spirits  of  wood  and  water,  but  who  can 

tell 

When  I  was  born  for  the  first  time  ?    I  think 
I  am  much  older  than  the  eagle  cock 
That  blinks  and  blinks  on  Ballygawley  Hill, 
And  he  is  the  oldest  thing  under  the  moon. 

FATHER  HART.   0  she  is  of  the  faery  people. 

THE  CHILD.  One  called, 

I  sent  my  messengers  for  milk  and  fire, 
She  called  again,  and  after  that  I  came. 

[ALL  except  SHAWN  and  MARY  BRUIN  gather 
behind  the  priest  for  protection.] 

SHAWN  [rising].  Though  you   have  made 
all  these  obedient, 


THE  LAND   OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     167 

You  have  not  charmed  my  sight,  and  won 

from  me 

A  wish  or  gift  to  make  you  powerful ; 
I'll  turn  you  from  the  house. 
FATHER  HART.  No,  I  will  face  her. 

THE  CHILD.  Because  you  took  away  the 

crucifix 

I  am  so  mighty  that  there's  none  can  pass 
Unless  I  will  it,  where  my  feet  have  danced 
Or  where  I've  whirled  my  finger  tops. 

[SHAWN  tries  to  approach  her  and  cannot.] 

MAURTEEN.  Look,  look ! 

There  something  stops  him  —  look  how  he 

moves  his  hands 

As  though  he  rubbed  them  on  a  wall  of  glass. 
FATHER  HART.   I  will  confront  this  mighty 
spirit  alone; 


168      THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

Be  not  afraid,  the  Father  is  with  us, 
The  Holy  Martyrs  and  the  Innocents, 
The  adoring  Magi  in  their  coats  of  mail, 
And  He  who  died  and  rose  on  the  third  day, 

And  all  the  nine  angelic  hierarchies. 
i 
[THE  CHILD  kneels  upon  the  settle  beside 

MARY  and  puts  her  arms  about  her.] 
Cry,  daughter,  to  the  Angels  and  the  Saints. 
THE  CHILD.  You  shall  go  with  me,  newly- 
married  bride, 

And  gaze  upon  a  merrier  multitude. 
White-armed  Nuala,  Aengus  of  the  Birds, 
Feacra  of  the  hurtling  foam,  and  him 
Who  is  the  ruler  of  the  Western  Host, 
Finvarra  and  their  Land  of  Heart's  Desire, 
Where  beauty  has  no  ebb,  decay  no  flood, 
But  joy  is  wisdom,  Time  an  endless  song. 


THE  LAND  OF  HEARTS  DESIRE     169 

I  kiss  you  and  the  world  begins  to  fade. 
SHAWN.  Awake  out  of  that  trance  —  and 

cover  up 
Your  eyes  and  ears. 

FATHER  HART.  She  must  both  look  and 

v,.      "4 
listen, 

For  only  the  soul's  choice  can  save  her  now. 

Come  over  to  me,  daughter;  stand  beside  me; 

Think  of  this  house  and  of  your  duties  in  it. 

THE  CHILD.     Stay    and    come  with  me, 

newly-married  bride, 

For  if  you  hear  him  you  grow  like  the  rest , 
Bear  children,  cook,  and  bend  above  the  churn, 
And  wrangle  over  butter,  fowl,  and  eggs, 
Until  at  last,  grown  old  and  bitter  of  tongue, 
You're  crouching  there  and  shivering  at  the 

grave. 


170      THE  LAND   OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

FATHER  HART.   Daughter,  I  point  you  out 

the  way  to  Heaven. 

THE  CHILD.   But  I  can  lead  you,  newly- 
married  bride, 

Where  nobody  gets  old  and  crafty  and  wise, 
Where  nobody  gets  old  and  godly  and  grave, 
Where  nobody  gets  old  and  bitter  of  tongue, 
And  where  kind  tongues  bring  no  captivity; 
For  we  are  but  obedient  to  the  thoughts 
That  drift  into  the  mind  at  a  wink  of  the  eye. 
FATHER  HART.  By  the  dear  Name  of  the 

One  crucified, 

I  bid  you,  Mary  Bruin,  come  to  ms. 
THE  CHILD.   I  keep  you  in  the  name  of 

your  own  heart. 

FATHER  HART.  It  is  because  I  put  away 
the  crucifix 


THE  LAND   OF  HEARTS  DESIRE     171 

That  I  am  nothing,  and  my  power  is  nothing. 
I'll  bring  it  here  again. 
MAURTEEN  [dinging  to  him].    No. 
BRIDGET.  Do  not  leave  us. 

FATHER  HART.  0,  let  me  go  before  it  is 

too  late; 
It  is  my  sin  alone  that  brought  it  all. 

[Singing  outside.] 
THE  CHILD.   I    hear  them   sing,    "Come, 

newly-married  bride, 
Come,  to  the  woods  and  waters  and  pale 

lights." 

MARY.  I  will  go  with  you. 

FATHER  HART.  She  is  lost,  alas ! 

THE    CHILD    [standing   by  the  door].    But 

clinging  mortal  hope  must  fall  from  you, 

For  we  who  ride  the  winds,  run  on  the  waves, 


172     THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

And  dance  upon  the  mountains,  are  more 

light 

Than  dew-drops  on  the  banner  of  the  dawn. 
MARY.  0,  take  me  with  you. 
SHAWN.  Beloved,  I  will  keep  you. 

I've  more  than  words,  I  have  these  arms  to 

hold  you, 

Nor  all  the  faery  host,  do  what  they  please, 
Shall  ever  make  me  loosen  you  from  these 

arms. 

MARY.  Dear  face !    Dear  voice ! 
THE  CHILD.       Come,  newly-married  bride. 
MARY.  I  always  loved  her  world  —  and 

yet  —  and  yet  — 
THE  CHILD.  White  bird,  white  bird,  come 

with  me,  little  bird. 
MARY.  She  calls  me ! 


THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     173 

THE  CHILD.     Come  with  me,  little  bird. 
[Distant  dancing  figures  appear  in  the  wood.] 
MARY.   I  can  hear  songs  and  dancing. 
SHAWN.  Stay  with  me. 

MARY.   I  think  that  I  would  stay  — and 

yet  —  and  yet  — 
THE  CHILD.   Come,  little  bird,  with  crest 

of  gold. 

MARY  [very  softly].    And  yet  — 

..i 
THE  CHILD.  Come,  little  bird  with  silver 

feet! 

[MARY  BRUIN  dies,  and  the  CHILD  goes.] 
SHAWN.  She  is  dead  ! 

BRIDGET.  Come  from  that  image;    body 

and  soul  are  gone; 

You  have  thrown  your  arms  about  a  drift  of 
leaves, 


174     THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIEE 

Or  bole  of  an  ash  tree  changed  into  her  image. 
FATHER  HART.  Thus  do  the  spirits  of  evil 

snatch  their  prey, 

Almost  out  of  the  very  hand  of  God  ; 
And  day  by  day  their  power  is  more  and 

more, 

And  men  and  women  leave  old  paths,  for  pride 
Comes  knocking  with  thin  knuckles  on  the 

heart. 
[Outside  there  are  dancing  figures,  and  it  may 

be  a  white  bird,  and  many  voices  singing :] 
11  The  wind  blows  out  of  the  gates  of  the  day, 
The  wind  blows  over  the  lonely  of  heart, 
And  the  lonely  of  heart  is  withered  away ; 
While  the  faeries  dance  in  a  place  apart, 
Shaking  their  milk-white  feet  in  a  ring, 
Tossing  their  milk-white  arms  in  the  air ; 


THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE     175 

For  they  hear  the  wind  laugh  and  murmur 

and  sing 

Of  a  land  where  even  the  old  are  fair, 
And  even  the  wise  are  merry  of  tongue ; 
But  I  heard  a  reed  of  Coolaney  say  — 
'When  the  wind  has  laughed  and  murmured 

and  sung, 
The  lonely  of  heart  is  withered  away.' " 


THE   SHADOWY  WATERS 


To  LADY  GBEGOBT 


I  walked  among  the  seven  woods  of  Coole, 
Shan-walla,  where  a  willow-bordered  pond 
Gathers  the  wild  duck  from  the  winter  dawn; 
Shady  Kyk-dortha;  sunnier  Kyk-na-gno, 
Where  many  hundred  squirrels  are  as  happy 
As  though  they  had  been  hidden  by  green  boughs, 
Where  old  age  cannot  find  them;  Pairc-na-ka, 
Where  hazel  and  ash  and  privet  blind  the  paths; 
Dim  Pairc-na-carraig,  where  the  wild  bees  fling 
Their  sudden  fragrances  on  the  green  air; 
Dim  Pairc-na-tarav,  where  enchanted  eyes 
Have  seen  immortal,  mild,  proud  shadows  walk; 
Dim  Inchy  wood,  that  hides  badger  and  fox 
And  martin-cat,  and  borders  that  old  wood 
Wise  Biddy  Early  called  the  wicked  wood: 

179 


180  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

Seven  odours,  seven  murmurs,  seven  woods. 
I  had  not  eyes  like  those  enchanted  eyes, 
Yet  dreamed  that  beings  happier  than  men 
Moved  round  me  in  the  shadows,  and  at  night 
My  dreams  were  cloven  by  voices  and  by  fires; 
And  the  images  I  have  woven  in  this  story 
0}  Forgael  and  Dectora  and  the  empty  waters 
Moved  round  me  in  the  voices  and  the  fires, 
And  more  I  may  not  write  of,  for  they  that  cleave 
The  waters  of  sleep  can  make  a  chattering  tongue 
Heavy  like  stone,  their  wisdom  being  half  silence. 

How  shall  I  name  you,  immortal,  mild,  proud 

shadows  f 
I  only  know  that  att  we  know  comes  from 

you, 
And  that  you  come  from  Eden  on  flying  feet. 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  181 

7s  Eden  far  away,  or  do  you  hide 

From  human  thought,  as  hares  and  mice  and 

coneys 

That  run  before  the  reaping-hook  and  lie 
In  the  last  ridge  of  the  barley  ?    Do  our  woods 
And  winds  and  ponds  cover  more  quiet  woods, 
More    shining   winds,    more    star-glimmering 

ponds  f 

Is  Eden  out  of  time  and  out  of  space  f 
And  do  you  gather  about  us  when  pale  light 
Shining  on  water  and  fallen  among  leaves, 
And  winds  blowing  from  flowers,  and  whirr  of 

feathers 
And  the  green  quiet,  have  uplifted  the  heart  f 

I  have  made  this  poem  for  you,  that  men  may 
read  it 


182  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

Before  they  read  of  Forgael  and  Dectora, 

As  men  in  the  old  times,  before  the  harps  began, 

Poured  out  wine  for  the  high  invisible  ones. 

SEPTEMBER,  1900. 


THE  HARP  OF  AENGUS 

Edain  came  out  of  Midher's  hill,  and  lay 
Beside  young  Aengus  in  his  tower  of  glass, 
Where  time  is  drowned  in  odour-laden  winds 
And  druid  moons,  and  murmuring  of  boughs, 
And  sleepy  boughs,  and  boughs  where  apples 

made 

Of  opal  and  ruby  and  pale  chrysolite 
Awake  unsleeping  fires;  and  wove  seven  strings, 
Sweet  with  all  music,  out  of  his  long  hair, 
Because  her  hands  had  been  made  wild  by  love; 
When  Midher's  wife  had  changed  her  to  a  fly, 
He  made  a  harp  with  druid  apple  wood 
That  she  among  her  winds  might  know  he  wept; 
And  from  that  hour  he  has  watched  over  none 
But  faithful  lovers. 

183 


PERSONS  OF  THE  PLAY 

FORGAEL 
AIBRIC 
SAILORS 
DECTORA 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

SCENE.  The  deck  of  an  ancient  ship.  At  the 
right  of  the  stage  is  the  mast,  with  a  large 
square  sail  hiding  a  great  deal  of  the  sky  and 
sea  on  that  side.  The  tiller  is  at  the  left  of 
the  stage;  it  is  a  long  oar  coming  through  an 
opening  in  the  bulwark.  The  deck  rises  in  a 
series  of  steps  behind  the  tiller,  and  the  stern 
of  the  ship  curves  overhead.  All  the  wood- 
work is  of  dark  green;  and  the  sail  is  dark 
green,  with  a  blue  pattern  upon  it,  having  a 
little  copper  colour  here  and  there.  The  sky 
and  sea  are  dark  blue.  All  the  persons  of  the 
play  are  dressed  in  various  tints  of  green  and 
blue,  the  men  with  helmets  and  swords  of 

185 


186  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

copper,  the  woman  with  copper  ornaments, 
upon  her  dress.  When  the  play  opens  there 
are  four  persons  upon  the  deck.  AIBRIC 
stands  by  the  tiller.  FORGAEL  sleeps  upon 
the  raised  portion  of  the  deck  towards  the 
front  of  the  stage.  Two  SAILORS  are  standing 
near  to  the  mast,  on  which  a  harp  is  hanging. 

FIRST  SAILOR.  Has  he  not  led  us  into  these 

waste  seas 
For  long  enough  ? 

SECOND  SAILOR.  Aye,  long  and  long  enough. 
FIRST  SAILOR.  We  have  not  come  upon  a 

shore  or  ship 
These  dozen  weeks. 

SECOND  SAILOR.    And  I  had  thought   to 
make 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  187 

A  good  round   sum  upon  this    cruise,  and 

turn  — 

For  I  am  getting  on  in  life  —  to  something 
That  has  less  ups  and  downs  than  robbery. 
FIRST  SAILOR.    I  am    so    lecherous  with 

abstinence 

I'd  give  the  profit  of  nine  voyages 
For  that  red  Moll  that  had  but  the  one  eye. 
SECOND  SAILOR.  And  all  the  ale  ran  out  at 

the  new  moon ; 

And  now  that  time  puts  water  in  my  blood, 
The  ale  cup  is  my  father  and  my  mother. 
FIRST  SAILOR.  It  would  be  better  to  turn 

home  again, 

Whether  he  will  or  no ;  and  better  still 
To  make  an  end  while  he  is  sleeping  there. 
If  we  were  of  one  mind  I'd  do  it. 


188  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

SECOND  SAILOR.  Were't  not 

That  there  is  magic  in  that  harp  of  his, 
That  makes  me  fear  to  raise  a  hand  against 

him, 

I  would  be  of  your  mind ;  but  when  he  plays  it 
Strange  creatures  flutter  up  before  one's  eyes, 
Or  cry  about  one's  ears. 
FIRST  SAILOR.  Nothing  to  fear. 

SECOND  SAILOR.   Do  you  remember  when 

we  sank  that  galley 
At  the  full  moon  ? 
FIRST  SAILOR.       He  played   all   through 

the  night. 
SECOND  SAILOR.   Until  the  moon  had  set; 

and  when  I  looked 

Where  the  dead  drifted,  I  could  see  a  bird 
Like  a  grey  gull  upon  the  breast  of  each. 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  189 

\Vhile  I  was  looking  they  rose  hurriedly, 
And  after  circling  with  strange  cries  awhile 
Flew  westward ;  and  many  a  tune  since  then 
I've  heard  a  rustling  overhead  in  the  wind. 

FIRST  SAILOR.  I  saw  them  on  that  night  as 

well  as  you. 

But  when  I  had  eaten  and  drunk  a  bellyful 
My  courage  came  again. 

SECOND  SAILOR.  But  that's  not  all. 

The  other  night,  while  he  was  playing  it, 
A  beautiful  young  man  and  girl  came  up 
In  a  white,  breaking  wave;  they  had  the 

look 
Of  those  that  are  alive  for  ever  and  ever. 

FIRST  SAILOR.  I  saw  them,  too,  one  night. 

Forgael  was  playing, 
And  they  were  listening  there  beyond  the  sail. 


190  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

He  could  not  see  them,  but  I  held  out  my 

hands 

To  grasp  the  woman. 
SECOND  SAILOR.  You  have  dared  to  touch 

her? 
FIRST  SAILOR.   0,  she  was  but  a  shadow, 

and  slipped  from  me. 

SECOND  SAILOR.  But  were  you  not  afraid  ? 
FIRST  SAILOR.  Why  should  I  fear  ? 

SECOND  SAILOR.   'Twas  Aengus  and  Edain, 

the  wandering  lovers, 
To  whom  all  lovers  pray. 

FIRST  SAILOR.  But  what  of  that  ? 

A  shadow  does  not  carry  sword  or  spear. 
SECOND  SAILOR.  My  mother  told  me  that 

there  is  not  one 
Of  the  ever-living  half  so  dangerous 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  191 

As  that  wild  Aengus.     Long  before  her  day 
He  carried  Edam  off  from  a  king's  house, 
And  hid  her  among  fruits  of  jewel-stone 
And  in  a  tower  of  glass,  and  from  that  day 
Has  hated  every  man  that's  not  in  love, 
And  has  been  dangerous  to  him.  y 

FIRST  SAILOR.  I  have  heard 

He  does  not  hate  seafarers  as  he  hates 
Peaceable  men  that  shut  the  wind  away, 
And  keep  to  the  one  weary  marriage  bed. 

SECOND  SAILOR.  I  think  that  he  has  Forgael 

in  his  net, 
And  drags  him  through  the  sea. 

FIRST  SAILOR.  Well,  net  or  none 

I'd  kill  him  while  we  have  the  chance  to  do  it. 

SECOND  SAILOR.  It's  certain  I'd  sleep  easier 
o'  nights 


192  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

If  he  were  dead ;  but  who  will  be  our  captain, 
Judge  of  the  stars,  and  find  a  course  for  us  ? 
FIRST  SAILOR.  I've  thought  of  that.     We 

must  have  Aibric  with  us, 
For  he  can  judge  the  stars  as  well  as  Forgael. 
[Going  towards  AIBRIC.] 
Become  our  captain,  Aibric.    I  am  resolved 
To  make  an  end  of  Forgael  while  he  sleeps. 
There's  not  a  man  but  will  be  glad  of  it 
When  it  is  over,  nor  one  to  grumble  at  us. 
You'll  have  the  captain's  share  of  everything. 
AIBRIC.  Silence!   for  you  have  taken  For- 
gael pay. 
FIRST  SAILOR.  We  joined  him  for  his  pay, 

but  have  had  none 

This  long  while  now;    we  had  not  turned 
against  him 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  193 

If  he  had  brought  us  among  peopled  seas, 
For  that  was  in  the  bargain  when  we  struck 

it. 

What  good  is  there  in  this  hard  way  of  living, 
Unless  we  drain  more  flagons  hi  a  year 
And  kiss  more  lips  than  lasting  peaceable  men 
In  their  long  lives  ?    If  you'll  be  of  our  troop 
You'll  be  as  good  a  leader. 

AIBRIC.  Be  of  your  troop ! 

No,  nor  with  a  hundred  men  like  you 
When  Forgael's  in  the  other  scale.    I'd  say  it 
Even  if  Forgael  had  not  been  my  master 
From  earliest  childhood,  but  that  being  so, 
If  you  will  draw  that  sword  out  of  its  scabbard 
I'll  give  my  answer. 

FIRST  SAILOR.  You  have  awaked  him. 

[To  SECOND  SAILOR.] 


VOL.   II.  O 


194  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

We'd  better  go,  for  we  have  lost  this  chance. 

[They  go  out.] 
FORGAEL.   Have  the  birds  passed  us?    I 

could  hear  your  voice. 
But  there  were  others. 
AIBRIC.  I  have  seen  nothing  pass. 

FORGAEL.  You  re  certain  of  it  ?    I  never 

wake  from  sleep 

But  that  I  am  afraid  they  may  have  passed, 
For  they're  my  only  pilots.    If  I  lost  them 
Straying  too  far  into  the  north  or  south, 
I'd  never  come  upon  the  happiness 
That  has  been  promised  me.    I  have  not  seen 

them 
These  many  days;    and  yet  there  must  be 

many 
Dying  at  every  moment  in  the  world, 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  195 

And  flying  towards  their  peace. 

AIBRIC.  Put  by  these  thoughts, 

And  listen  to  me  for  awhile.    The  sailors 
Are  plotting  for  your  death. 

FORGAEL.  Have  I  not  given 

More  riches  than  they  ever  hoped  to  find  ? 
And  now  they  will  not  follow,  while  I  seek 
The  only  riches  that  have  hit  my  fancy. 

AIBRIC.  What  riches  can  you  find  in  this 

waste  sea 
Where  no   ship   sails,   where  nothing  that's 

alive 

Has  ever  come  but  those  man-headed  birds, 
Knowing  it  for  the  world's  end  ? 

FORGAEL.  Where  the  world  ends 

The  mind  is  made  unchanging,  for  it  finds 
Miracle,  ecstasy,  the  impossible  hope, 


196  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

The  flagstone  under  all,  the  fire  of  fires, 
The  roots  of  the  world. 

AIBRIC.  Who  knows  that  shadows 

May  not  have  driven  you  mad  for  their  own 

sport  ? 
FORGAEL.   Do  you,  too,  doubt  me  ?    Have 

you  joined  their  plot  ? 
AIBRIC.  No,  no,   do  not  say  that.    You 

know  right  well 

That  I  will  never  lift  a  hand  against  you. 
FORGAEL.  Why  should  you  be  more  faithful 

than  the  rest, 
Being  as  doubtful  ? 

AIBRIC.  I  have  called  you  master 

Too  many  years  to  lift  a  hand  agayist  you. 
FORGAEL.  Maybe  it  is  but  natural  to  doubt 
me. 


TEE  SHADOWY   WATERS  197 

You've  never  known,  I'd  lay  a  wager  on  it, 
A  melancholy  that  a  cup  of  wine, 
A  lucky  battle,  or  a  woman's  kiss 
Could  not  amend. 

AIBRIC.  I  have  good  spirits  enough. 

I've  nothing  to  complain  of  but  heartburn, 
And   that   is   cured   by  a   boiled    liquorice 

root. 
FORGAEL.  If  you  will  give  me  all  your  mind 

awhile  — 

All,  all,  the  very  bottom  of  the  bowl  — 
I'll  show  you  that  I  am  made  differently, 
That  nothing  can  amend  it  but  these  waters, 
Where  I  am  rid  of  life  —  the  events  of  the 

world  — 

What  do  you  call  it?  —  that  old  promise- 
breaker, 


198  THE  SHADOWY    WATERS 

The  cozening  fortune-teller  that  comes  whis- 
pering, 
"  You  will  have  all  you  have  wished  for  when 

you  have  earned 

Land  for  your  children  or  money  in  a  pot." 
And  when  we  have  it  we  are  no  happier, 
Because  of  that  old  draught  under  the  door, 
Or  creaky  shoes.    And  at  the  end  of  all 
We  have  been  no  better  off  than  Seaghan  the 

fool, 
That    never    did    a    hand's    turn.    Aibric! 

Aibric ! 

We  have  fallen  in  the  dreams  the  ever-living 
Breathe    on    the    burnished    mirror   of    the 

world, 
And  then  smooth  out  with  ivory  hands  and 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  199 

And  find  their  laughter  sweeter  to  the  taste 

For  that  brief  sighing. 

AIBRIC.  If  you  had  loved  some  woman 

FORGAEL.  You  say  that  also?    You  have 
heard  the  voices, 

For  that  is  what  they  say  —  all,  all  the  shad- 
ows— 

Aengus  and  Edain,  those  passionate  wander- 
ers, 

And  all  the  others ;  but  it  must  be  love 

As  they  have  known  it.    Now  the  secret's 
out; 

For  it  is  love  that  I  am  seeking  for, 

But  of  a  beautiful,  unheard-of  kind 

That  is  not  in  the  world. 
AIBRIC.  And  yet  the  world 

Has  beautiful  women  to  please  every  man. 


200  THE  SHADOWY    WATERS 

FORGAEL.  But  he  that  gets  their  love  after 

the  fashion 

Loves  in  brief  longing  and  deceiving  hope 
And  bodily  tenderness,  and  finds  that  even 
The  bed  of  love,  that  in  the  imagination 
Had  seemed  to  be  the  giver  of  all  peace, 
Is  no  more  than  a  wine  cup  in  the  tasting, 
And  as  soon  finished. 

AIBRIC.  All  that  ever  loved 

Have  loved  that  way  —  there  is  no  other  way. 
FORGAEL.  Yet  never  have  two  lovers  kissed 

but  they 

Believed  there  was  some  other  near  at  hand, 
And  almost  wept  because  they   could  not 

find  it. 

AIBRIC.  When  they  have  twenty  years;  in 
middle  life 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  201 

They  take  a  kiss  for  what  a  kiss  is  worth, 
And  let  the  dream  go  by. 

FORGAEL.  It's  not  a  dream, 

But  the  reality  that  makes  our  passion 
As  a  lamp  shadow  —  no  —  no  lamp,  the  sun. 
What  the  world's  million  lips  are  thirsting  for, 
Must  be  substantial  somewhere. 

AIBRIC.  I  have  heard  the  Druids 

Mutter    such  things  as    they  awake    from 

trance. 

It  may  be  that  the  ever-living  know  it  — 
No  mortal  can. 

FORGAEL.         Yes;  if  they  give  us  help. 

AIBRIC.  They  are  besotting  you  as  they 

besot 

The  crazy  herdsman  that  will  tell  his  fellows 
That  he  has  been  all  night  upon  the  hills, 


202  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

Riding  to  hurley,  or  in  the  battle-host 
With  the  ever-living. 

FORGAEL.          What  if  he  speak  the  truth, 
And  for  a  dozen  hours  have  been  a  part 
Of  that  more  powerful  life  ? 

AIBRIC.  His  wife  knows  better. 

Has  she  not  seen  him  lying  like  a  log, 
Or  fumbling  in  a  dream  about  the  house  ? 
And  if  she  hear  him  mutter  of  wild  riders, 
She  knows  that  it  was  but  the  cart-horse 

coughing 
That  set  him  to  the  fancy. 

FORGAEL.  All  would  be  well 

Could  we  but  give  us  wholly  to  the  dreams, 
And  get  into  their  world  that  to  the  sense 
Is  shadow,  and  not  linger  wretchedly 
Among  substantial  things ;  for  it  is  dreams 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  203 

That  lift  us  to  the  flowing,  changing  world 
That  the  heart  longs  for.    What  is  love  itself, 
Even  though  it  be  the  lightest  of  light  love, 
But  dreams  that  hurry  from  beyond  the  world 
To  make  low  laughter  more  than  meat  and 

drink, 

Though  it  but  set  us  sighing.     Fellow-wan- 
derer, 

Could  we  but  mix  ourselves  into  a  dream, 
Not  in  its  image  on  the  mirror. 

AIBRIC.  While 

We're  in  the  body  that's  impossible. 
FORGAEL.  And  yet  I  cannot  think  they're 

leading  me 

To  death ;  for  they  that  promised  to  me  love 
As  those  that  can  outlive  the  moon  have 
known  it, 


204  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

Had  the  world's  total  life  gathered  up,  it 

seemed, 
Into   their  shining  limbs  —  I've  had  great 

teachers. 

Aengus  and  Edam  ran  up  out  of  the  wave  — 
You'd  never   doubt   that  it  was  life   they 

promised 
Had  you  looked  on  them  face  to  face  as  I 

did, 

With  so  red  lips,  and  running  on  such  feet, 
And  having  such  wide-open,  shining  eyes. 
AIBRIC.  It's  certain  they  are  leading  you 

to  death. 

None  but  the  dead,  or  those  that  never  lived, 
Can  know  that  ecstasy.    Forgael !  Forgael ! 
They  have  bade  you  follow  the  man-headed 

birds, 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  205 


And  you  have  told  me  that  their  journey  lies 
Towards  the  country  of  the  dead. 

FORGAEL.  What  matter 

If  I  am  going  to  my  death,  for  there, 
Or  somewhere,  I  shall  find  the  love  they  have 

promised. 

That  much  is  certain.    I  shall  find  a  woman, 
One  of  the  ever-living,  as  I  think  — 
One  of  the  laughing  people  —  and  she  and  I 
Shall  light  upon  a  place  hi  the  world's  core, 
Where  passion  grows  to  be  a  changeless  thing, 
Like  charmed  apples  made  of  chrysoprase, 
Or  chrysoberyl,  or  beryl,  or  chrysolite; 
And  there,  in  juggleries  of  sight  and  sense, 
Become  one  movement,  energy,  delight, 

Until  the  overburthened  moon  is  dead. 

iii,r-^< 

[A  number  of  SAILORS  enter  hurriedly  from  R.] 


206  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

FIRST  SAILOR.  Look  there!  there  in  the 

mist !  a  ship  of  spice ! 
And  we  are  almost  on  her ! 

SECOND  SAILOR.  We  had  not  known 

But  for  the  ambergris  and  sandalwood. 
FIRST  SAILOR.  No ;  but  opoponax  and  cin- 
namon. 

FORGAEL  [taking  the  tiller  from  AIBRIC]. 
The  ever-living  have  kept  my  bargain  for  me, 
And  paid  you  on  the  nail. 

AIBRIC.  Take  up  that  rope 

To  make  her  fast  while  we  are  plundering  her. 

FIRST  SAILOR.  There  is  a  king  and  queen 

upon  her  deck, 
And  where  there  is  one  woman  there'll  be 

others. 
AIBRIC.  Speak  lower,  or  they'll  hear. 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  207 

FIRST  SAILOR.  They  cannot  hear ; 

They  are  too  busy  with  each  other.    Look ! 
He  has  stooped  down  and  kissed  her  on  the 

lips. 
SECOND  SAILOR.   When  she  finds  out  we 

have  better  men  aboard 
She  may  not  be  too  sorry  in  the  end. 
FIRST  SAILOR.   She  will  be  like  a  wild  cat; 

for  these  queens 

Care  more  about  the  kegs  of  silver  and  gold, 
And  the  high  fame  that  come  to  them  in 

marriage, 

Than  a  strong  body  and  a  ready  hand. 
FIRST  SAILOR.    There's  nobody  is  natural 

but  a  robber, 

And  that  is  why  the  world  totters  about 
Upon  its  bandy  legs. 


208  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

AIBRIC.  Run  at  them  now, 

And  overpower  the  crew  while  yet  asleep ! 
[SAILORS  go  out.      Voices  and  the  clashing 

of  swords  are  heard  from  the  other  ship, 

which  cannot  be  seen  because  of  the  sail.] 
A  VOICE.  Armed  men  have  come  upon  us ! 

0, 1  am  slain ! 

ANOTHER  VOICE.  Wake  all  below ! 
ANOTHER  VOICE.       Why  have  you  broken 

our  sleep  ? 
FIRST  VOICE.  Armed  men  have  come  upon 

us !    0, 1  am  slain ! 
FORGAEL    [who  has  remained  at  the  tiller]. 

There !  there  they  come !    Gull,  gannet, 

or  diver 

But  with  a  man's  head,  or  a  fair  woman's, 
They  hover  over  the  masthead  awhile 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  209 

To  wait  their  friends;  but  when  their  friends 

have  come 

They'll  fly  upon  that  secret  way  of  theirs. 
One  —  and  one  —  a  couple  —  five  together. 
And  I  will  hear  them  talking  in  a  minute. 
Yes,  voices !  but  I  do  not  catch  the  words. 
Now  I  can  hear.    There's  one  of  them  that 

says: 
"How  light  we  are,  now  we  are  changed  to 

birds!" 

Another  answers :  "  Maybe  we  shall  find 
Our  heart's  desire  now  that  we  are  so  light." 
And  then  one  asks  another  how  he  died, 
And  says :  "  A  sword  blade  pierced  me  in  my 

sleep." 

And  now  they  all  wheel  suddenly  and  fly 
To  the  other  side,  and  higher  in  the  air. 

VOL.   II.  P 


210  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

And  now  a  laggard  with  a  woman's  head 
Comes  crying :  "  I  have  run  upon  the  sword. 
I  have  fled  to  my  beloved  in  the  air, 
In  the  waste  of  the  high  air,  that  we  may 

wander 

Among  the  windy  meadows  of  the  dawn." 
But  why  are  they  still  waiting?    why  are 

they 

Circling  and  circling  over  the  masthead  ? 
What  power  that  is  more  mighty  than  desire 
To  hurry  to  their  hidden  happiness 
Withholds  them  now  ?    Have  the  ever-living 

ones 

A  meaning  in  that  circling  overhead  ? 
But  what's   the  meaning?    [He  cries  out.] 

Why  do  you  linger  there  ? 
Why  do  you  not  run  to  your  desire, 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  211 

Now  that  you  have  happy  winged  bodies  ? 

[His  voice  sinks  again.] 
Being  too  busy  in  the  air  and  the  high  air, 
They  cannot  hear  my  voice;  but  what's  the 

meaning  ? 
[The  SAILORS  have  returned.     DECTORA  is 

with  them.    She  is  dressed  in  pale  green, 

with  copper  ornaments  on  her  dress,  and  has 

a  copper  crown  upon  her  head.  Her  hair  is 

dutt  red.] 
FORGAEL  [turning  and  seeing  her].    Why 

are  you  standing  with  your  eyes  upon  me  ? 
You  are  not  the  world's  core.    0  no,  no,  no ! 
That  cannot  be  the  meaning  of  the  birds. 
You  are  not  its  core.    My  teeth  are  in  the 

world, 
But  have  not  bitten  yet. 


212  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

DECTORA.  I  am  a  queen, 

And  ask  for  satisfaction  upon  these 
Who  have  slain  my  husband  and  laid  hands 

upon  me. 
[Breaking  loose  from  the  SAILORS  who  are 

holding  her.] 
Let  go  my  hands. 

FORGAEL.         Why  do  you  cast  a  shadow  ? 
Where  do  you  come  from  ?    Who  brought  you 

to  this  place  ? 
They  would  not  send  me  one  that  casts  a 

shadow. 

DECTORA.  Would  that  the  storm  that  over- 
threw my  ships, 
And  drowned  the  treasures  of  nine  conquered 

nations, 
And  blew  me  hither  to  my  lasting  sorrow, 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  213 

Had  drowned  me  also.    But,  being  yet  alive, 
I  ask  a  fitting  punishment  for  all 
That  raised  their  hands  against  him. 

FORGAEL.  There  are  some 

That  weigh  and  measure  all  in  these  waste 

seas  — 

They  that  have  all  the  wisdom  that's  in  life, 
And  all  that  prophesying  images 
Made  of  dim  gold  rave  out  in  secret  tombs ; 
They  have  it  that  the  plans  of  kings  and 

queens 
Are  dust  on  the  moth's  wing;   that  nothing 

matters 
But  laughter  and  tears  —  laughter,  laughter, 

and  tears; 

That  every  man  should  carry  his  own  soul 
Upon  his  shoulders. 


214  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

DECTORA.  You've  nothing  but  wild 

words, 
And  I  would  know  if  you   will   give   me 

vengeance. 
FORGAEL.  When  she  finds  out  I  will  not  let 

her  go  — 

When  she  knows  that. 
DECTORA.  What  is  it  that  you 

are  muttering  — 

That  you'll  not  let  me  go  ?    I  am  a  queen. 
FORGAEL.  Although  you  are  more  beautiful 

than  any, 

I  almost  long  that  it  were  possible; 
But  if  I  were  to  put  you  on  that  ship, 
With  sailors  that  were  sworn  to  do  your  will, 
And  you  had  spread  a  sail  for  home,  a  wind 
Would  rise  of  a  sudden,  or  a  wave  so  huge, 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  215 

It  had  washed  among  the  stars  and  put  them 

out, 

And  beat  the  bulwark  of  your  ship  on  mine, 
Until  you  stood  before  me  on  the  deck  — 
As  now. 

DECTORA.  Does  wandering  in  these 

desolate  seas 

And  listening  to  the  cry  of  wind  and  wave 
Bring  madness  ? 

FORGAEL.  Queen,  I  am  not  mad. 

DECTORA.  And  yet  you  say  the  water  and 

the  wind 
Would  rise  against  me. 

FORGAEL.  No,  I  am  not  mad  — 

If  it  be  not  that  hearing  messages 
From  lasting  watchers,  that  outlive  the  moon, 
At  the  most  quiet  midnight  is  to  be  stricken. 


216  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

DECTORA.  And  did  those  watchers  bid  you 

take  me  captive  ? 
FORGAEL.  Both  you  and  I  are  taken  in  the 

net. 
It  was  their  hands  that  plucked  the  winds 

awake 
And  blew  you  hither ;  and  their  mouths  have 

promised 

I  shall  have  love  in  their  immortal  fashion. 
They  gave  me  that  old  harp  of  the  nine  spells 
That  is  more  mighty  than  the  sun  and  moon, 
Or  than  the  shivering  casting-net  of  the  stars, 
That  none  might  take  you  from  me. 
DECTORA   [first   trembling    back    from    the 

mast  where  the  harp  is,  and  then  laughing]. 

For  a  moment 
Your  raving  of  a  message  and  a  harp 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  217 

More  mighty  than  the  stars  half  troubled  me 
But  all  that's  raving.      Who  is  there  can 

compel 

The  daughter  and  granddaughter  of  kings 
To  be  his  bedfellow  ? 

FORGAEL.  Until  your  lips 

Have  called  me  their  beloved,  I'll  not  kiss 
them. 

DECTORA.  My  husband  and  my  king  died 

at  my  feet, 
And  yet  you  talk  of  love. 

FORGAEL.  The  movement  of  time 

Is  shaken  hi  these  seas,  and  what  one  does 
One  moment  has  no  might  upon  the  moment 
That  follows  after. 

DECTORA.  I  understand  you  now. 

You  have  a  Druid  craft  of  wicked  sound 


218  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

Wrung  from  the  cold  women  of  the  sea  — 
A  magic  that  can  call  a  demon  up, 
Until  my  body  give  you  kiss  for  kiss. 

FORGAEL.   Your  soul  shall  give  the  kiss. 

DECTORA.  I  am  not  afraid, 

While  there's  a  rope  to  run  into  a  noose 
Or  wave  to  drown.    But  I  have  done  with 

words, 

And  I  would  have  you  look  into  my  face 
And  know  that  it  is  fearless. 

FORGAEL.  Do  what  you  will, 

For  neither  I  nor  you  can  break  a  mesh 
Of  the  great  golden  net  that  is  about  us. 

DECTORA.  There's  nothing  in  the  world 
that's  worth  a  fear. 

[She   passes   FORGAEL   and   stands   for   a 
moment  looking  into  his  face.] 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  219 

I  have  good  reason  for  that  thought. 

[She  runs  suddenly  on  to  the  raised  part  of 
the  poop.] 

And  now 

I  can  put  fear  away  as  a  queen  should. 
[She  mounts  on  to  the  bulwark  and  turns 

towards  FORGAEL.] 
Fool,  fool!    Although  you  have  looked  into 

my  face 

You  do  not  see  my  purpose.    I  shall  have  gone 
Before  a  hand  can  touch  me. 
FORGAEL  [folding  his  arms].     My  hands 

are  still ; 

The  ever-living  hold  us.    Do  what  you  will, 
You  cannot  leap  out  of  the  golden  net. 
FIRST  SAILOR.  No  need  to  drown,  for,  if 
you  will  pardon  us 


220  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

And   measure    out  a  course  and  bring  ua 

home, 
We'll  put  this  man  to  death. 

DECTORA.  I  promise  it. 

FIRST  SAILOR.  There  is  none  to  take  his 
side. 

AIBRIC.  I'll  strike  a  blow  for  him  to  give 

him  tune 
To  cast  his  dreams  away. 

[AIBRIC  goes  in  front  of  FORGAEL  with  drawn 
sword.  FORGAEL  takes  the  harp.] 

FIRST  SAILOR.  No  other'll  do  it. 

[The  SAILORS  throw  AIBRIC  on  one  side.  He 
falls  upon  the  deck  towards  the  poop.  They 
lift  their  swords  to  strike  FORGAEL,  who  is 
about  to  play  the  harp.  The  stage  begins 
to  darken.  The  SAILORS  hesitate  in  fear.] 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  221 

SECOND  SAILOR.  He  has  put  a  sudden  dark- 
ness over  the  moon. 
DECTORA.  Nine   swords  with   handles  of 

rhinoceros  horn 
To  him  that  strikes  him  first ! 
FIRST  SAILOR.  I  will  strike  him  first. 

[He  goes  close  up  to  FORGAEL  with  his  sword 
lifted.  The  harp  begins  to  shine  with 
many-coloured  fire.  The  scene  has  become 
so  dark  that  the  only  light  is  from  the 
harp.] 

FIRST  SAILOR    [shrinking  *J)ack].    He  has 
caught  the  crescent  moon  out  of  the  sky, 
And  carries  it  between  us. 

SECOND  SAILOR.  Holy  fire 

Has  come  into  the  jewels  of  the  harp 
To  burn  us  to  the  marrow  if  we  strike. 


222  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

DECTORA.  I'll  give  a  golden  galley  full  oi 

fruit, 

That  has  the  heady  flavour  of  new  wine, 
To  him  that  wounds  him  to  the  death. 

FIRST  SAILOR.  I'll  do  it. 

For    all   his    spells    will    vanish   when    he 

dies, 
Having  their  life  in  him. 

SECOND  SAILOR.       Though  it  be  the  moon 
That  he  is  holding  up  between  us  there, 
I  will  strike  at  him. 

THE  OTHERS.       And  I !    And  I !    And  I ! 
[FORGAEL  plays  the  harp} 
FIRST  SAILOR   [jailing  into  a  dream  sud- 
denly].   But  you  were  saying  there  is 
somebody 
Upon  that  other  ship  we  are  to  wake. 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  223 

You  did  not  know  what  brought  him  to  his 

end, 
But  it  was  sudden. 

SECOND  SAILOR.    You  are  in  the  right; 
I  had  forgotten  that  we  must  go  wake  him. 
DECTORA.   He  has  flung  a  Druid  spell  upon 

the  air, 
And  set  you  dreaming. 

SECOND  SAILOR.   How  can  we  have  a  wake 
When  we  have  neither  brown  nor  yellow 

ale? 
FIRST  SAILOR.  I  saw  a  flagon  of  brown  ale 

aboard  her. 
THIRD  SAILOR.  How  can  we  raise  the  keen 

that  do  not  know 
What  name  to  call  him  by? 
FIRST  SAILOR.  Come  to  his  ship. 


224  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

His  name  will  come  into  our  thoughts  in  a 

minute. 

I  know  that  he  died  a  thousand  years  ago, 
And  has  not  yet  been  waked. 
SECOND  SAILOR  [beginning  to  keen].   Ohone ! 

0!    0!    0! 

The  yew  bough  has  been  broken  into  two, 
And  all  the  birds  are  scattered. 
ALL  THE  SAILORS.  0 !  0 !  0 !  0 ! 

[They  go  out  keening.] 
DECTORA.  Protect  me  now,  gods,  that  my 

people  swear  by. 

[AiBRic  has  risen  from  the  ground  where  he 
had  fallen.    He  has  begun  looking  for  his 
sword  as  if  in  a  dream.] 
AIBRIC.  Where  is  my  sword  that  fell  out 
of  my  hand 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  225 

When  I  first  heard  the  news  ?    Ah,  there  it  is ! 
[He  goes  dreamily  towards  the  sword,  but 
DECTORA  runs  at  it  and  takes  it  up  before 
he  can  reach  it.] 

AIBRIC  [sleepily].    Queen,  give  it  me. 
DECTORA.  No,  I  have  need  of  it. 

AIBRIC.  Why  do  you  need  a  sword?     But 

you  may  keep  it, 

Now  that  he's  dead  I  have  no  need  of  it, 
For  everything  is  gone. 
A  SAILOR   [catting    from  the    other    ship]. 

Come  hither,  Aibric, 

And  tell  me  who  it  is  that  we  are  waking. ' 
AIBRIC     [half    to   DECTORA,  half  to  him- 
self].   What  name  had  that  dead  king? 
Arthur  of  Britain  ? 
No,  no  —  not  Arthur.    I  remember  now. 

VOL.  II.  — Q 


226  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

It  was  golden-armed  lollan,  and  he  died 
Brokenhearted,  having  lost  his  queen 
Through  wicked  spells.    That  is  not  all  the 

tale, 

For  he  was  killed.    0!0!0!0!0!0! 
For  golden-armed  lollan  has  been  killed. 
[He  goes  out.    While  he  has  been  speaking, 
and   through   part  of  what   follows,  one 
hears  the  wailing  of  the  SAILORS  from  the 
other   ship.     DECTORA   stands   with   the 
sword  lifted  in  front  of  FORGAEL.] 
DECTORA.  I  will  end  all  your  magic  on  the 

instant. 

[Her  voice  becomes  dreamy,  and  she  lowers 
the  sword  slowly,  and  finally  lets  it  fall. 
She  spreads  out  her  hair.  She  takes  off 
her  crown  and  lays  it  upon  the  deck.] 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  227 

This  sword  is  to  lie  beside  him  in  the  grave. 

It  was  in  all  his  battles.    I  will  spread  my  hair, 

And  wring  my  hands,  and  wail  him  bitterly, 

For  I  have  heard  that  he  was  proud  and  laugh- 
ing, 

Blue-eyed,  and  a  quick  runner  on  bare  feet, 

And  that  he  died  a  thousand  years  ago. 

0!  0!  0! 

[FORGAEL  changes  the  tune.] 
But  no,  that  is  not  it. 

I  knew  him  well,  and  while  I  heard  him  laugh- 
ing 

They  killed  him  at  my  feet.    0 !  0 !  0 !  0 ! 

For  golden-armed  lollan  that  I  loved. 

But  what  is  it  that  made  me  say  I  loved  him  ? 

It  was  that  harper  put  it  in  my  thoughts, 

But  it  is  true.    Why  did  they  run  upon  him, 


228  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

And    beat    the    golden    helmet   with   their 

swords  ? 
FORGAEL.   Do  you  not  know  me,  lady  ?    I 

am  he 
That  you  are  weeping  for. 

DECTORA.  No,  for  he  is  dead. 

0 !  0 !  0 !  for  golden-armed  lollan. 
FORGAEL.  It  was  so  given  out,  but  I  will 

prove 

That  the  grave-diggers  in  a  dreamy  frenzy 
Have  buried  nothing  but  my  golden  arms. 
Listen  to  that  low-laughing  string  of  the  moon 
And  you  will  recollect  my  face  and  voice, 
For  you  have  listened  to  me  playing  it 
These  thousand  years. 
[He  starts  up,  listening  to  the  birds.     The 
harp  slips  from  his  hands,  and  remains 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  229 

leaning  against  the  bulwarks  behind  him. 

The  light  goes  out  of  it.] 

What  are  the  birds  at  there  ? 
Why  are  they  all  a-flutter  of  a  sudden  ? 
What  are  you  calling  out  above  the  mast  ? 
If  railing  and  reproach  and  mockery 
Because  I  have  awakened  her  to  love 
My  magic  strings,  I'll  make  this  answer  to  it: 
Being  driven  on  by  voices  and  by  dreams 
That  were  clear  messages  from  the  ever-living, 
I  have  done  right.    What  could  I  but  obey? 
And  yet  you  make  a  clamour  of  reproach. 
DECTORA  [laughing].    Why,  it's  a  wonder 

out  of  reckoning 
That  I  should  keen  him  from  the  full  of  the 

moon 
To  the  horn,  and  he  be  hale  and  hearty. 


230  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

FORGAEL.  How  have  I  wronged  her 

that  she  is  merry  ? 

But  no,  no,  no !  your  cry  is  not  against  me. 
You  know  the  councils  of  the  ever-living, 
And  all  that  tossing  of  your  wings  is  joy, 
And  all  that  murmuring's  but  a  marriage  song ; 
But  if  it  be  reproach,  I  answer  this : 
There  is  not  one  among  you  that  made  love 
By  any  other  means.    You  call  it  passion, 
Consideration,  generosity ; 
But  it  was  all  deceit,  and  flattery 
To  win  a  woman  is  in  her  own  despite, 
For  love  is  war,  and  there  is  hatred  in  it; 
And  if  you  say  that  she  came  willingly 

DECTORA.  Why  do  you  turn  away  and  hide 

your  face, 
That  I  would  look  upon  for  ever  ? 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  231 

FORGAEL.  My  grief. 

DECTORA.  Have  I  not  loved  you  for  a 
thousand  years  ? 

FORGAEL.  I  never  have  been  golden-armed 
lollan. 

DECTORA.  I  do  not  understand.    I  know 

your  face 
Better  than  my  own  hands. 

FORGAEL.  I  have  deceived  you 

Out  of  all  reckoning. 

DECTORA.  Is  it  not  true 

That  you  were  born  a  thousand  years  ago, 
In  islands  where  the  children  of  Aengus  wind 
In  happy  dances  under  a  windy  moon, 
And  that  you'll  bring  me  there  ? 

FORGAEL.  I  have  deceived  you ; 

I  have  deceived  you  utterly. 


232  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

DECTORA.  How  can  that  be  ? 

Is  it  that  though  your  eyes  are  full  of  love 
Some  other  woman  has  a  claim  on  you, 
And  I've  but  half? 

FORGAEL.  Oh,  no ! 

DECTORA.  And  if  there  is, 

If  there  be  half  a  hundred  more,  what  matter  ? 
I'll  never  give  another  thought  to  it; 
No,  no,  nor  half  a  thought ;  but  do  not  speak. 
Women  are  hard  and  proud  and  stubborn- 
hearted, 
Their  heads  being  turned  with  praise  and 

flattery; 

And  that  is  why  their  lovers  are  afraid 
To  tell  them  a  plain  story. 

FORGAEL.  That's  not  the  story ; 

But  I  have  done  so  great  a  wrong  against  you, 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  233 

There  is  no  measure  that  it  would  not  burst. 
I  will  confess  it  all. 

DECTORA.  What  do  I  care, 

Now  that  my  body  has  begun  to  dream, 
And  you  have  grown  to  be  a  burning  sod 
In  the  imagination  and  intellect  ? 
If  something  that's  most  fabulous  were  true  — 
If  you  had  taken  me  by  magic  spells, 
And  killed  a  lover  or  husband  at  my  feet  — 
I  would  not  let  you  speak,  for  I  would  know 
That  it  was  yesterday  and  not  to-day 
I  loved  him ;  I  would  cover  up  my  ears, 
As  I  am  doing  now.     [A  pause.]    Why  do 

you  weep  ? 
FORGAEL.  I  weep  because  I've  nothing  for 

your  eyes 
But  desolate  waters  and  a  battered  ship. 


234  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

DECTORA.  0,  why  do  you  not  lift  your  eyes 

to  mine  ? 
FORGAEL.  I  weep  —  I  weep  because  bare 

night's  above, 

And  not  a  roof  of  ivory  and  gold, 
DECTORA.  I  would  grow  jealous  of  the  ivory 

roof, 

And  strike  the  golden  pillars  with  my  hands. 
I  would  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  world 
But  my  beloved  —  that  night  and  day  had 

perished, 

And  all  that  is  and  all  that  is  to  be, 
All  that  is  not  the  meeting  of  our  lips. 
FORGAEL.  I  too,  I  too.    Why  do  you  look 

away? 

Am  I  to  fear  the  waves,  or  is  the  moon 
My  enemy  ? 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  235 

DECTORA.      I  looked  upon  the  moon, 
Longing  to  knead  and  pull  it  into  shape 
That  I  might  lay  it  on  your  head  as  a  crown. 
But  now  it  is  your  thoughts  that  wander 

away, 
For  you  are  looking  at  the  sea.    Do  you  not 

know 

How  great  a  wrong  it  is  to  let  one's  thought 
Wander  a  moment  when  one  is  in  love  ? 
[He  has  moved  away.    She  follows  him.    He 
is  looking  out  over  the  sea,  shading  his  eyes.] 
DECTORA.   Why  are  you  looking  at  the  sea  ? 
FORGAEL.  Look  there ! 

DECTORA.  What  is  there  but  a  troop  of  ash- 
grey  birds 

That  fly  into  the  west? 
FORGAEL.  But  listen,  listen  I 


236  THE  SHADOWY   WATERS 

DECTORA.   What  is  there  but  the  crying  of 

the  birds  ? 
FORGAEL.  If  you'll  but  listen  closely  to  that 

crying 

You'll  hear  them  calling  out  to  one  another 
With  human  voices. 

DECTORA.  0, 1  can  hear  them  now. 

What   are   they?    Unto   what   country   do 

they  fly? 

FORGAEL.  To  unimaginable  happiness 
They  have  been  circling  over  our  heads  in  the 

air, 

But  now  that  they  have  taken  to  the  road 
We    have    to    follow,    for    they    are    our 

pilots ; 

And  though  they're  but  the  colour  of  grey 
ash, 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  237 

They're  crying  out,  could  you  but  hear  their 

words, 
"There  is  a  country  at  the  end  of  the  world 

Where  no  child's  born  but  to  outlive  the 

/' 

[The  SAILORS  come  in  with  AIBRIC.    They 

are  in  great  excitement.] 
FIRST  SAILOR.  The  hold  is  full  of  treasure. 
SECOND  SAILOR.  Full  to  the  hatches. 

FIRST  SAILOR.  Treasure  and  treasure. 
THIRD  SAILOR.        Boxes  of  precious  spice. 
FIRST  SAILOR.  Ivory  images  with  amethyst 

eyes. 
THIRD  SAILOR.     Dragons    with    eyes    of 

ruby. 

FIRST  SAILOR.  The  whole  ship 

Flashes  as  if  it  were  a  net  of  herrings. 


238  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

THIRD  SAILOR.  Let's  home;  I'd  give  some 

rubies  to  a  woman. 
SECOND  SAILOR.  There's  somebody  I'd  give 

the  amethyst  eyes  to. 
FIRST  SAILOR.  Let's  home  and  spend  it  in 

our  villages. 

AIBRIC  [silencing  them  with  a  gesture].    We 
would  return  to  our  own  country,  Forgael, 
For  we  have  found  a  treasure  that's  so  great 
Imagination  cannot  reckon  it. 
And  having  lit  upon  this  woman  there, 
What  more  have  you  to  look   for  on  the 

seas? 
FORGAEL.  I  cannot  —  I  am  going  on  to  the 

end. 

As  for  this  woman,  I  think  she  is  coming  with 
me. 


THE  SHADOWY   WATERS  239 

AIBRIC.   The  ever-living  have  made  you 

mad ;  but  no, 

It  was  this  woman  in  her  woman's  vengeance 
That  drove  you  to  it,  and  I  fool  enough 
To  fancy  that  she'd  bring  you  home  again. 
'Twas  you  that  egged  him  to  it,  for  you  know 
That  he  is  being  driven  to  his  death. 

DECTORA.   That  is  not  true,  for  he  has  prom- 
ised me 
An  unimaginable  happiness. 

AIBRIC.  And  if  that  happiness  be  more  than 

dreams, 

More  than  the  froth,  the  feather,  the  dustwhirl, 
The  crazy  nothing  that  I  think  it  is, 
It  shall  be  in  the  country  of  the  dead, 
If  there  be  such  a  country. 

DECTORA.  No,  not  there, 


240  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

But  in  some  island  where  the  life  of  the  world 
Leaps  upward,  as  if  all  the  streams  o'  the 

world 
Had  run  into  one  fountain. 

AIBRIC.  Speak  to  him. 

He  knows  that  he  is  taking  you  to  death ; 
He  cannot  contradict  me. 
DECTORA.  Is  that  true  ? 

FORGAEL.  I  do  not  know  for  certain,  but 

I  know 
That  I  have  the  best  of  pilots. 

AIBRIC.  Shadows,  illusions, 

That  the  shape-changers,  the  ever-laughing 

ones, 
The  immortal  mockers  have  cast  into  his 

mind, 
Or  called  before  his  eyes. 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  241 

DECTORA.  0  carry  me 

To  some  sure  country,  some  familiar  place. 
Have  we  not  everything  that  life  can  give 
In  having  one  another  ? 

FORGAEL.  HOW  Could  I  FCSt 

If  I  refused  the  messengers  and  pilots 
With  all  those  sights  and  all  that  crying  out  ? 
DECTORA.  But  I  will  cover  up  your  eyes 

and  ears, 
That  you  may  never  hear  the  cry  of  the 

birds, 
Or  look  upon  them. 

FORGAEL.  Were  they  but  lowlier 

I'd  do  your  will,  but  they  are  too  high  —  too 

high. 

DECTORA.  Being    too    high,    their    heady 
prophecies 

VOL.  II.  —  R 


242  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

But  harry  us  with  hopes  that  come  to  nothing, 
Because  we  are  not  proud,  imperishable, 
Alone  and  winged. 

FORGAEL.  Our  love  shall  be  like  theirs 

When  we  have  put  their  changeless  image  on, 

DECTORA.  I  am  a  woman,  I  die  at  every 
breath. 

AIBRIC.  Let  the  birds  scatter  for  the  tree 

is  broken. 
And    there's    no    help    in    words.    [To    the 

SAILORS.]    To  the  other  ship, 
And  I  will  follow  you  and  cut  the  rope 
When  I  have  said  farewell  to  this  man  here, 
For  neither  I  nor  any  living  man 
Will  look  upon  his  face  again. 

FORGAEL  [to  DECTORA].    Go  with  him, 
For  he  will  shelter  you  and  bring  you  home. 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  243 

AIBRIC  [taking  FORGAEL'S  hand].    I'll  do 
it  for  his  sake. 

DECTORA.   No.    Take  this  sword 
And  cut  the  rope,  for  I  go  on  with  Forgael. 

AIBRIC  [half  fatting  into  the  keen].     The  yew 

bough  has  been  broken  in  two, 
And  all  the  birds  are  scattered  —  0 !  0 !  0 ! 
Farewell !  farewell !  [He  goes  out.] 

DECTORA.   The  sword  is  in  the  rope  — 
The  rope's  in  two  —  it  falls  into  the  sea, 
It  whirls  into  the  foam.     0  ancient  worm, 
Dragon  that  loved  the  world  and  held  us  to  it, 
You  are  broken,  you  are  broken.    The  world 

drifts  away, 

And  I  am  left  alone  with  my  beloved, 
Who  cannot  put  me  from  his  sight  for  ever. 
We  are  alone  for  ever,  and  I  laugh, 


244  THE  SHADOWY  WATERS 

Forgael,  because  you  cannot  put  me  from  you. 
The  mist  has  covered  the  heavens,  and  you 

and  I 
Shall    be   alone    for   ever.    We    two  —  this 

crown  — 

I  half  remember  it  has  been  in  my  dreams, 
Bend  lower,  0  king,  that  I  may  crown  you 

with  it. 
0  flower  of  the  branch,  0  bird  among  the 

leaves, 

0  silver  fish  that  my  two  hands  have  taken 
Out  of  the  running  stream,  0  morning  star, 
Trembling  in  the  blue  heavens  like  a  white 

fawn 

Upon  the  misty  border  of  the  wood, 
Bend  lower,  that  I  may  cover  you  with  my 

hair, 


THE  SHADOWY  WATERS  245 

For  he  will  gaze  upon  this  world  no  longer. 
[The  scene  darkens,  and  the  harp  once  more 

begins  to  burn  as  with  fire.] 
FORGAEL  [gathering  DECTORA'S  hair  about 

him].    Beloved,  having  dragged  the  net 

about  us, 

And  knitted  mesh  to  mesh,  we  grow  immortal ; 
And  that  old  harp  awakens  of  itself 
To  cry  aloud  to  the  grey  birds,  and  dreams, 
That  have  had  dreams  for  fathers,  live  in  us. 


ON  BAILE'S   STRAND 


To  WILLIAM  FAY 

Because  of  the  beautiful   phantasy  of  his 
playing  in  the  part  of  the  FOOL. 


PERSONS 

A  FOOL 

A  BLIND  MAN 

CUCHULAIN,  KING  OF  MUIRTHEMNE 

CONCHOBAR,  HIGH  KING  OF  ULSTER 

A  YOUNG  MAN 

KINGS  AND  WOMEN 


ON  BAILE'S  STRAND 

SCENE.  A  great  hall  at  Dundealgan,  not  "Gu- 
chulain's  great  ancient  house"  but  an  assem- 
bly house  nearer  to  the  sea.  A  big  door  at 
the  back,  and  through  the  door  misty  light  as  of 
sea  mist.  There  are  many  chairs  and  one 
long  bench.  One  of  these  chairs,  which  is 
towards  the  front  of  the  stage,  is  bigger  than  the 
others.  Somewhere  at  the  back  there  is  a 
table  with  flagons  of  ale  upon  it  and  drinking 
horns.  There  is  a  small  door  at  one  side  of  the 
hall.  A  FOOL  and  BLIND  MAN,  both  ragged, 
come  in  through  the  door  at  the  back.  The 
BLIND  MAN  leans  upon  a  staff. 

251 


252  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

FOOL.  What  a  clever  man  you  are  though 
you  are  blind !  There's  nobody  with  two  eyes 
in  his  head  that  is  as  clever  as  you  are.  Who 
but  you  could  have  thought  that  the  hen  wife 
sleeps  every  day  a  little  at  noon?  I  would 
never  be  able  to  steal  anything  'it  you  didn't 
tell  me  where  to  look  for  it.  And  what  a  good 
cook  you  are !  You  take  the  fowl  out  of  my 
hands  after  I  have  stolen  it  and  plucked  it, 
and  you  put  it  into  the  big  pot  at  the  fire 
there,  and  I  can  go  out  and  run  races  with 
the  witches  at  the  edge  of  the  waves  and 
get  an  appetite,  and  when  I've  got  it,  there's 
the  hen  waiting  inside  for  me,  done  to  the 
turn. 

BLIND  MAN  [who  is  feeling  about  with  his 
stick].  Done  to  the  turn. 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  253 

FOOL  [putting  his  arm  round  BLIND  MAN'S 
neck].  Come  now,  I'll  have  a  leg  and  you'll 
have  a  leg,  and  we'll  draw  lots  for  the  wish- 
bone. I'll  be  praising  you,  I'll  be  praising 
you,  while  we're  eating  it,  for  your  good  plans 
and  for  your  good  cooking.  There's  nobody 
in  the  world  like  you,  Blind  Man.  Come, 
come.  Wait  a  minute.  I  shouldn't  have 
closed  the  door.  There  are  some  that  look 
for  me,  and  I  wouldn't  like  them  not  to  find 
me.  Don't  tell  it  to  anybody,  Blind  Man. 
There  are  some  that  follow  me.  Boann  her- 
self out  of  the  river  and  Fand  out  of  the  deep 
sea.  Witches  they  are,  and  they  come  by  in 
the  wind,  and  they  cry,  "Give  a  kiss,  Fool, 
give  a  kiss,"  that's  what  they  cry.  That's 
wide  enough.  All  the  witches  can  come  in 


254  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

now.  I  wouldn't  have  them  beat  at  the 
door  and  say:  "Where  is  the  Fool?  Why 
has  he  put  a  lock  on  the  door?"  Maybe 
they'll  hear  the  bubbling  of  the  pot  and 
come  in  and  sit  on  the  ground.  But  we 
won't  give  them  any  of  the  fowl.  Let 
them  go  back  to  the  sea,  let  them  go  back 
to  the  sea. 

BLIND  MAN  [feeling  legs  of  big  chair  with  his 
hands].  Ha!  [Then,  in  a  louder  voice  as  he 
feels  the  back  of  it.]  Ah !  ah ! 

FOOL.  Why  do  you  say  A-h ! 

BLIND  MAN.  I  know  the  big  chair.  It  is 
to-day  the  High  King  is  coming.  They  have 
brought  out  his  chair.  He  is  going  to  be 
Cuchulain's  master  in  earnest  from  this  day 
out.  It  is  that  he's  coming  for. 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  255 

FOOL.  He  must  be  a  great  man  to  be  Cu- 
chulain's  master. 

BLIND  MAN.  So  he  is.  He  is  a  great  man. 
He  is  over  all  the  rest  of  the  kings  of  Ireland. 

FOOL.  Cuchulain's  master!  I  thought 
Cuchulain  could  do  anything  he  liked. 

BLIND  MAN.  So  he  did,  so  he  did.  But  he 
ran  too  wild,  and  Conchobar  is  coming  to-day 
to  put  an  oath  upon  him  that  will  stop  his 
rambling  and  make  him  as  biddable  as  a  house 
dog  and  keep  him  always  at  his  hand.  He  will 
sit  in  this  chair  and  put  the  oath  upon  him. 

FOOL.  How  will  he  do  that? 

BLIND  MAN.  You  have  no  wits  to  under- 
stand such  things.  [The  BLIND  MAN  has  got 
into  the  chair.]  He  will  sit  up  in  this  chair 
and  he'll  say:  "Take  the  oath,  Cuchulain.  I 


256  ON  BAILEES   STRAND 

bid  you  take  the  oath.  Do  as  I  tell  you. 
What  are  your  wits  compared  with  mine,  and 
what  are  your  riches  compared  with  mine? 
And  what  sons  have  you  to  pay  your  debts 
and  to  put  a  stone  over  you  when  you  die? 
Take  the  oath,  I  tell  you.  Take  a  strong 
oath." 

FOOL  [crumpling  himself  up  and  whining]. 
I  will  not.  I'll  take  no  oath.  I  want  my 
dinner. 

BLIND  MAN.  Hush,  hush!  It  is  not  done 
yet. 

FOOL.  You  said  it  was  done  to  a  turn. 

BLIND  MAN.  Did  I  now?  Well,  it  might 
be  done,  and  not  done.  The  wings  might  be 
white,  but  the  legs  might  be  red.  The  flesh 
might  stick  hard  to  the  bones  and  not  come 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  257 

away  in  the  teeth.  But,  believe  me,  Fool 
it  will  be  well  done  before  you  put  your  teeth 
in  it. 

FOOL.  My  teeth  are  growing  long  with  the 
hunger. 

BLIND  MAN.  I'll  tell  you  a  story  —  the 
kings  have  story-tellers  while  they  are  wait- 
ing for  their  dinner  —  I  will  tell  you  a  story 
with  a  fight  in  it,  a  story  with  a  champion  in 
it,  and  ship  and  queen,  a  son  that  has  his 
mind  set  on  killing  somebody  that  you  and  I 
know. 

FOOL.  Who  is  that  ?  Who  is  he  coming  to 
kill? 

BLIND  MAN.  Wait  now  till  you  hear. 
When  you  were  stealing  the  fowl,  I  was  lying 
in  a  hole  in  the  sand,  and  I  heard  three  men 

VOL.    II.  S 


258  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

coming  with  a  shuffling  sort  of  noise.  They 
were  wounded  and  groaning. 

FOOL.   Go  on.    Tell  me  about  the  fight. 

BLIND  MAN.  There  had  been  a  fight,  a  great 
fight,  a  tremendous  great  fight.  A  young  man 
had  landed  on  the  shore,  the  guardians  of  the 
shore  had  asked  his  name,  and  he  had  refused 
to  tell  it,  and  he  had  killed  one,  and  others 
had  run  away. 

FOOL.  That's  enough.  Come  on  now  to  the 
fowl.  I  wish  it  was  bigger.  I  wish  it  was  as 
big  as  a  goose  .  .  . 

BLIND  MAN.  Hush !  I  haven't  told  you  all. 
I  know  who  that  young  man  is.  I  heard  the 
men  who  were  running  away  say  he  had  red 
hair,  that  he  had  come  from  Aoife's  country, 
that  he  was  coming  to  kill  Cuchulain. 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  259 

FOOL.  Nobody  can  do  that 

Cuchulain  has  killed  kings, 
Kings  and  sons  of  kings, 
Dragons  out  of  the  water, 
And  witches  out  of  the  air, 
Banachas  and  Bonachas  and  people  of  the 

woods. 

BLIND  MAN.   Hush!  hush! 
FOOL.   Witches  that  steal  the  milk, 
Fomor  that  steal  the  children, 
Hags  that  have  heads  like  hares, 
Hares    that    have    claws    like 

witches, 

All  riding  a  cock  horse 
Out  of  the  very  bottom  of  the  bitter  black 

north. 
BLIND  MAN.   Hush,  I  say ! 


260  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

FOOL.  Does  Cuchulain  know  that  he  is 
coming  to  kill  him? 

BLIND  MAN.  How  would  he  know  that  with 
his  head  in  the  clouds?  He  doesn't  care  for 
common  fighting.  Why  would  he  put  him- 
self out,  and  nobody  in  it  but  a  young  man? 
Now  if  it  were  a  white  fawn  that  might  turn 
into  a  queen  before  morning  .  .  . 
^  FOOL.  Come  to  the  fowl  ...  I  wish  it 
was  as  big  as  a  pig  ...  a  fowl  with  goose 
grease  and  pig's  crackling. 

BLIND  MAN.  No  hurry,  no  hurry.  I  know 
whose  son  it  is.  I  wouldn't  tell  anybody  else, 
but  I  will  tell  you,  —  a  secret  is  better  to 
you  than  your  dinner.  You  like  being  told 
secrets. 

FOOL.  Tell  me  the  secret. 


ON  BAILEES   STRAND  261 

BLIND  MAN.  That  young  man  is  Aoife's 
son.  I  am  sure  it  is  Aoife's  son,  it  is  borne 
in  upon  me  that  it  is  Aoife's  son.  You  have 
often  heard  me  talking  of  Aoife,  the  great 
woman-fighter  Cuchulain  got  the  mastery 
over  in  the  north. 

FOOL.  I  know,  I  know.  She  is  one  of 
those  cross  queens  that  lives  in  hungry  Scot- 
land. 

BLIND  MAN.  I  am  sure  it  is  her  son.  I  was 
in  Aoife's  country  for  a  long  time. 

FOOL.  That  was  before  you  were  blinded 
for  putting  a  curse  upon  the  wind. 

BLIND  MAN.  There  was  a  boy  in  her  house 
that  had  her  own  red  colour  on  him  and  every- 
body said  he  was  to  be  brought  up  to  kill 
Cuchulain,  that  she  hated  Cuchulain.  She 


262  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

used  to  put  a  helmet  on  a  pillar-stone  and  call 
it  Cuchulain  and  set  him  casting  at  it.  There 
is  a  step  outside  —  Cuchulain's  step.  [Cu- 
CHULAIN  passes  by  in  the  mist  outside  the  big 
door.] 

FOOL.  Where  is  Cuchulain  going? 

BLIND  MAN.  He  is  going  to  meet  Conchobar 
that  has  bidden  him  to  take  the  oath. 

FOOL.  Ah,  an  oath,  Blind  Man.  How  can 
I  remember  so  many  things  at  once?  Who 
is  going  to  take  an  oath? 

BLIND  MAN.  Cuchulain  is  going  to  take  an 
oath  to  Conchobar  who  is  High  King. 

FOOL.  What  a  mix-up  you  make  of  every- 
thing, Blind  Man.  You  were  telling  me  one 
story,  and  now  you  are  telling  me  another 
story  .  .  .  How  can  I  get  the  hang  of  it 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  263 

at  the  end  if  you  mix  everything  at  the  be- 
ginning ?  Wait  till  I  settle  it  out.  There  now, 
there's  Cuchulain  [He  points  to  one  foot.],  and 
there  is  the  young  man  [He  points  to  the  other 
foot.]  that  is  coming  to  kill  him,  and  Cuchulain 
doesn't  know,  but  where's  Conchobar  ?  [Takes 
bag  from  side.]  That's  Conchobar  with  all 
his  riches  —  Cuchulain,  young  man,  Concho- 
bar—  And  where's  Aoife?  [Throws  up  cap.] 
There  is  Aoife,  high  up  on  the  mountains  in 
high  hungry  Scotland.  Maybe  it  is  not  true 
after  all.  Maybe  it  was  your  own  making  up. 
It's  many  a  tune  you  cheated  me  before  with 
your  lies.  Come  to  the  cooking  pot,  my  stom- 
ach is  pinched  and  rusty.  Would  you  have 
it  to  be  creaking  like  a  gate? 

BLIND  MAN.  I  tell  you  it's  true.    And  more 


264  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

than  that  is  true.  If  you  listen  to  what  I  say> 
you'll  forget  your  stomach  .  .  . 

FOOL.  I  won't. 

BLIND  MAN.  I  know  who  the  young  man's 
father  is,  but  I  won't  say.  I  would  be  afraid 
to  say.  Ah,  Fool,  you  would  forget  every- 
thing if  you  could  know  who  the  young  man's 
father  is. 

FOOL.  Who  is  it?  Tell  me  now  quick,  or  I'll 
shake  you.  Come,  out  with  it,  or  I'll  shake  you. 

BLIND  MAN.  Wait,  wait.  There's  somebody 
coming.  It  is  Cuchulain  is  coming.  He's 
coming  back  with  the  High  King.  Go  and 
ask  Cuchulain.  He'll  tell  you.  It's  little 
you'll  care  about  the  cooking  pot  when  you 
have  asked  Cuchulain  that  .  .  . 

FOOL.  I'll  ask  him.  Cuchulain  will  know. 
He  was  in  Aoife's  country.  [Goes  up  stage.] 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  265 

I'll  ask  him.  [Turns  and  goes  down  stage.] 
But,  no.  I  won't  ask  him,  I  would  be  afraid. 
[Going  up  again.]  Yes,  I  will  ask  him.  What 
harm  in  asking?  The  Blind  Man  said  I  was 
to  ask  him.  [Going  down.}  No,  no.  I'll  not 
ask  him.  He  might  kill  me.  I  have  but 
killed  hens  and  geese  and  pigs.  He  has  killed 
kings.  [Goes  up  again  almost  to  big  door.] 
Who  says  I'm  afraid?  I'm  not  afraid.  I'm 
no  coward.  I'll  ask  him.  No,  no,  Cuchulain, 
I'm  not  going  to  ask  you. 

He  has  killed  kings, 
Kings  and  the  sons  of  kings, 
Dragons  out  of  the  water, 
And  witches  out  of  the  air, 
Banachas  and  Bonachas  and  people  of  the 
woods. 


266  ON  BAILS' 8  STRAND 

[FooL  goes  out  side  door,  the  last  words  being 

heard  outside.] 

[CUCHULAIN  and  CONCHOBAR  enter  through 
the  big  door  at  the  back.  While  they  are  still 
outside,  CUCHULAIN'S  voice  is  heard  raised 
in  anger.  He  is  a  dark  man,  something  over 
forty  years  of  age.  CONCHOBAR  is  much 
older  and  carries  a  long  staff,  elaborately 
carved,  or  with  an  elaborate  gold  handle.] 
CUCHULAIN.  Because  I  have  killed  men 
without  your  bidding 

And    have    rewarded    others    at    my    own 
pleasure, 

Because  of  half  a  score  of  trifling  things 

You'd  lay  this  oath  upon  me,  and  now  and 
now 

You  add  another  pebble  to  the  heap. 


ON  BAILS' S  STRAND  267 

And  I  must  be  your  man,  well-nigh  your 
bondsman, 

Because  a  youngster  out  of  Aoife's  country 

Has  found  the  shore  ill  guarded. 
CONCHOBAR.  He  came  to  land 

While  you  were  somewhere  out  of  sight  and 
hearing, 

Hunting  or  dancing  with  your  wild  compan- 
ions. 

CUCHULAIN.  He  can  be  driven  out.    I'll 
not  be  bound. 

I'll  dance  or  hunt,  or  quarrel  or  make  love, 

Wherever  and  whenever  I've  a  mind  to. 

If  tune  had  not  put  water  in  your  blood, 

You  never  would  have  thought  it. 
CONCHOBAR.  I  would  leave 

A  strong  and  settled  country  to  my  children. 


268  ON  BAILEES  STEAND 

CUCHULAIN.  And  I  must  be  obedient  in  ah 

things ; 

Give  up  my  will  to  yours ;  go  where  you  please ; 
Come  when  you  call ;  sit  at  the  council-board 
Among  the  unshapely  bodies  of  old  men. 
I  whose  mere  name  has  kept  this  country  safe, 
I  that  in  early  days  have  driven  out 
Maeve  of  Cruachan  and  the  northern  pirates, 
The  hundred  kings  of  Sorcha,  and  the  kings 
Out  of  the  garden  in  the  east  of  the  world. 
Must  I,  that  held  you  on  the  throne  when  all 
Had  pulled  you  from  it,  swear  obedience 
As  if  I  were  some  cattle-raising  king? 
Are  my  shins  speckled  with  the  heat  of  the 

fire, 

Or  have  my  hands  no  skill  but  to  make  figures 
Uoon  the  ashes  with  a  stick?    Am  I 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  269 

So  slack  and  idle  that  I  need  a  whip 
Before  I  serve  you? 

CONCHOBAR.  No,  no  whip,  Cuchulain, 

But  every  day  my  children  come  and  say 
This  man  is  growing  harder  to  endure. 
How  can  we  be  at  safety  with  this  man 
That  nobody  can  buy  or  bid  or  bind  ? 
We  shall  be  at  his  mercy  when  you  are  gone ; 
He  burns  the  earth  as  if  he  were  a  fire, 
And  time  can  never  touch  him. 

CUCHULAIN.  And  so  the  tale 

Grows  finer  yet;  and  I  am  to  obey 
Whatever  child  you  set  upon  the  throne, 
As  if  it  were  yourself. 

CONCHOBAR.  Most  certainly. 

I  am  High  King,  my  son  shall  be  High  King. 
And  you  for  all  the  wildness  of  your  blood, 


270  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

And  though  your  father  came  out  of  the  sunv 
Are  but  a  little  king  and  weigh  but  light 
In  anything  that  touches  government, 
If  put  into  the  balance  with  my  children. 

CUCHULAIN.  It's  well  that  we  should  speak 

our  minds  out  plainly, 
For  when  we  die  we  shall  be  spoken  of 
In  many  countries.    We  in  our  young  days 
Have  seen  the  heavens  like  a  burning  cloud 
Brooding  upon  the  world,  and  being  more 
Than  men  can  be  now  that  cloud's  lifted  up, 
We  should  be  the  more  truthful.     Conchobar, 
I  do  not  like  your  children — they  have  no  pith, 
No  marrow,  in  their  bones,  and  will  lie  soft 
Where  you  and  I  lie  hard. 

CONCHOBAR.  You  rail  at  them 

Because  you  have  no  children  of  your  own. 


ON  B AILS' S  STRAND  271 

CUCHULAIN.  I  think  myself  most  lucky  that 

I  leave 

No  pallid  ghost  or  mockery  of  a  man 
To  drift  and  mutter  in  the  corridors, 
Where  I  have  laughed  and  sung. 

CONCHOBAR.  That  is  not  true 

For  all  your  boasting  of  the  truth  between 

us. 
For,  there  is  none  that  having  house  and 

lands, 

That  have  been  in  the  one  family 
And  called  by  the  one  name  for  centuries, 
But  is  made  miserable  if  he  know 
They  are  to  pass  into  a  stranger's  keeping, 
As  yours  will  pass. 

CUCHULAIN.        The  most  of  men  feel  that, 
But  you  and  I  leave  names  upon  the  harp. 


272  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

CONCHOBAR.  You  play  with  arguments  as 

lawyers  do, 
And  put  no  heart  in  them.    I  know  your 

thoughts, 
For  we  have  slept  under  the  one  cloak  and 

drunk 
From  the  one  wine  cup.    I  know  you  to  the 

bone. 

I  have  heard  you  cry,  aye  in  your  very  sleep, 
"I  have  no  son,"  and  with  such  bitterness 
That  I  have  gone  upon  my  knees  and  prayed 
That  it  might  be  amended. 

CUCHULAIN.  For  you  thought 

That  I  should  be  as  biddable  as  others 
Had  I  their  reason  for  it,  but  that's  not  true, 
For  I  would  need  a  weightier  argument 
Than  one  that  marred  me  in  the  copying, 


O^  BAILEES   STRAND  273 

As  I  have  that  clean  hawk  out  of  the  air 
That,  as  men  say,  begot  this  body  of  mine 
Upon  a  mortal  woman. 

CONCHOBAR.  Now  as  ever 

You  mock  at  every  reasonable  hope, 
And  would  have  nothing,  or  impossible  things. 
What  eye  has  ever  looked  upon  the  child 
Would  satisfy  a  mind  like  that? 

CUCHULAIN.  I  would  leave 

My  house  and  name  to  none  that  would  not 

face 
Even  myself  in  battle. 

CONCHOBAR.  Being  swift  of  foot 

And  making  light  of  every  common  chance, 
You  should  have  overtaken  on  the  hills 
Some  daughter  of  the  air,  or  on  the  shore 
A  daughter  of  the  country-under-wave. 


VOL.   II. T 


274  ON  BAILS' s  STRAND 

CUCHULAIN.  I  am  not  blasphemous. 
CONCHOBAR.  Yet  you  despise 

Our  queens,  and  would  not  call  a  child  your 

own, 

If  one  of  them  had  borne  him. 
CUCHULAIN.  I  have  not  said  it. 

CONCHOBAR.  Ah !  I  remember  I  have  heard 

you  boast, 
When  the  ale  was  in  your  blood,  that  there 

was  one 
In  Scotland,  where  you  had  learnt  the  trade  of 

war, 
That  had  a  stone-pale  cheek  and  red-brown 

hair. 

And  that  although  you  had  loved  other  women, 
You'd  sooner  that  fierce  woman  of  the  camp 
Bore  you  a  son  than  any  queen  among  them. 


ON  BAILS' S  STRAND  275 

CUCHULAIN.  You  call  her  a  "fierce  woman 

of  the  camp, " 

For  having  lived  among  the  spinning  wheels, 
You'd  have  no  woman  near  that  would  not 

say, 
"Ah!  how  wise!"  "What  will  you  have  for 

supper?" 
"What  shall  I  wear  that  I  may  please  you, 

sir?" 
And  keep  that  humming  through  the  day  and 

night 

For  ever  —  a  fierce  woman  of  the  camp  — 
But  I  am  getting  angry  about  nothing. 
You  have  never  seen  her,  ah !  Conchobar,  had 

you  seen  her 
With  that  high,  laughing,  turbulent  head  of 

hers 


276  ON  BAILEES  STEAND 

Thrown  backward  and  the  bow-string  at  her 

ear, 

Or  sitting  at  the  fire  with  those  grave  eyes 
Full  of  good  counsel  as  it  were  with  wine, 
Or  when  love  ran  through  all  the  lineaments 
Of  her  wild  body  —  although  she  had  no  child, 
None  other  had  all  beauty,  queen,  and  lover, 
Or  was  so  fitted  to  give  birth  to  kings. 
CONCHOBAR.   There's  nothing  I  can  say  but 

drifts  you  farther 
From  the  one  weighty  matter  —  that  very 

woman  — 

For  I  know  well  that  you  are  praising  Aoife  — 
Now  hates  you  and  will  leave  no  subtilty 
Unknotted  that  might  run  into  a  noose 
About  your  throat  —  no  army  in  idleness 
That  might  bring  ruin  on  this  land  you  serve. 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  277 

CUCHULAIN.  No  wonder  in  that,  no  wonder 

at  all  in  that. 

I  never  have  known  love  but  as  a  kiss 
In  the  mid  battle,  and  a  difficult  truce 
Of  oil  and  water,  candles  and  dark  night, 
Hillside  and  hollow,  the  hot-footed  sun, 
And  the  cold,  sliding,  slippery-footed  moon, 
A  brief  forgiveness  between  opposites 
That  have  been  hatreds  for  three  times  the 

age 
Of  this  long  'stablished  ground. 

CONCHOBAR.  Listen  to  me. 

Aoife  makes  war  on  us,  and  every  day 
Our   enemies   grow   greater    and    beat    the 

walls 

More  bitterly,  and  you  within  the  walls 
Are  every  day  more  turbulent,  and  yet, 


278  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

When  I  would  speak  about  these  things,  your 
mind 

Runs  as  it  were  a  swallow  on  the  wind. 
[Outside  the  door  in  the  blue  light  of  the  sea 
mist  are  many  old  and  young  KINGS,  amongst 
them  are  three  WOMEN,  two  of  whom  carry  a 
bowl  full  of  fire.  The  third,  in  what  follows, 
puts  from  time  to  time  fragrant  herbs  into  the 
fire  so  that  it  flickers  up  into  brighter  flame.] 

Look   at   the   door   and  what   men   gather 
there, 

Old  counsellors  that  steer  the  land  with  me, 

And  younger  kings,  the  dancers  and  harp 
players 

That  follow  in  your  tumults,  and  all  these 

Are  held  there  by  the  one  anxiety. 

Will  you  be  bound  into  obedience 


ON  BAILEES   STRAND  279 

And  so  make  this  land  safe  for  them  and 

theirs  ? 

You  are  but  half  a  king  and  I  but  half; 
I  need  your  might  of  hand  and  burning  heart, 
And  you  my  wisdom. 
CUCHULAIN  [going  near  to  door].  Nestlings 

of  a  high  nest, 

Hawks  that  have  followed  me  into  the  air 
And  looked  upon  the  sun,  we'll  out  of  this 
And  sail  upon  the  wind  once  more.     This  king 
Would  have  me  take  an  oath  to  do  his  will 
And  having  listened  to  his  tune  from  morning, 
I  will  no  more  of  it.    Run  to  the  stable 
And  set  the  horses  to  the  chariot  pole, 
And  send  a  messenger  to  the  harp  players. 
We'll  find  a  level  place  among  the  woods, 
And  dance  awhile. 


280  ON  BAILEES  STRAN.D 

A    YOUNG    KING.     Cuchulain,    take   the 

oath. 
There  is  none  here  that  would  not  have  you 

take  it. 
CUCHULAIN.  You'd  have  me  take  it  ?    Are 

you  of  one  mind? 
THE  KINGS.  All,  all,  all,  all. 
A  YOUNG  KING.    Do  what  the  High  King 

bids  you. 
CONCHOBAR.    There  is  not  one  but  dreads 

this  turbulence 
Now  that  they're  settled  men. 

CUCHULAIN.  Are  you  so  changed, 

Or  have  I  grown  more  dangerous  of  late  ? 
But  that's  not  it.    I  understand  it  all. 
It's  you  that  have  changed.    You've  wives 
and  children  now, 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  281 

And  for  that  reason  cannot  follow  one 
That  lives  like  a  bird's  flight  from  tree  to 

tree  .  .  . 

It's  time  the  years  put  water  in  my  blood 
And  drowned  the  wildness  of  it,   for  all's 

changed, 
But    that    unchanged  ...    I'll   take  what 

oath  you  will, 

The  moon,  the  sun,  the  water,  light,  or  air, 
I  do  not  care  how  binding. 

CONCHOBAR.  On  this  fire 

That  has  been  lighted  from  your  hearth  and 

mine. 

The  older  men  shall  be  my  witnesses, 
The  younger,  yours.    The  holders  of  the  fire 
Shall  purify  the  thresholds  of  the  house 
With  waving  fire,  and  shut  the  outer  door 


282  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

According  to  the  custom;  and  sing  rhymes 
That  have  come  down    from  the  old   law- 
makers 

To  blow  the  witches  out.    Considering 
That  the  wild  will  of  man  could  be  oath- 
bound, 
But  that  a  woman's  could  not,  they  bid  us 

sing 

Against  the  will  of  woman  at  its  wildest 
In  the  shape  changers  that  run  upon  the 
wind. 

[CONCHOBAR  has  gone  on  to  his  throne.] 
THE  WOMEN  [they  sing  in  a  very  low  voice 
after  the  first  few  words  so  that  the  others  all 
but  drowned  their  words].    May  this  fire 
have  driven  out 
The  shape  changers  that  can  put 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  283 

Ruin  on  a  great  king's  house 

Until  all  be  ruinous. 

Names  whereby  a  man  has  known 

The  threshold  and  the  hearthstone, 

Gather  on  the  wind  and  drive 

The  women,  none  can  kiss  and  thrive, 

For  they  are  but  whirling  wind, 

Out  of  memory  and  mind. 

They  would  make  a  prince  decay 

With  light  images  of  clay, 

Planted  in  the  running  wave, 

Or,  for  many  shapes  they  have, 

They  would  change  them  into  hounds, 

Until  he  had  died  of  his  wounds, 

Though  the  change  were  but  a  whim; 

Or  they'd  hurl  a  spell  at  him 

That  he  follow  with  desire 


284  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

Bodies  that  can  never  tire; 
Or  grow  kind,  for  they  anoint 
All  their  bodies,  joint  by  joint, 
With  a  miracle-working  juice 
That  is  made  out  of  the  grease 
Of  the  ungoverned  unicorn. 
But  the  man  is  twice  forlorn, 
Emptied,  ruined,  wracked,  and  lost, 
That  they  follow,  for  at  most 
They  will  give  him  kiss  for  kiss; 
While  they  murmur,  "After  this 
Hatred  may  be  sweet  to  the  taste." 
Those  wild  hands  that  have  embraced 
All  his  body  can  but  shove 
At  the  burning  wheel  of  love, 
Till  the  side  of  hate  comes  up; 
Therefore  in  this  ancient  cup 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  285 

May  the  sword  blades  drink  their  fill 
Of  the  homebrew  there,  until 
They  will  have  for  masters  none 
But  the  threshold  and  hearthstone. 

CUCHULAIN  [speaking,  while  they  are  sing- 
ing]. I'll  take  and  keep  this  oath,  and  from 

this  day 

I  shall  be  what  you  please,  my  chicks,  my  nest- 
lings. 
Yet  I  had  thought  you  were  of  those  that 

praised 
Whatever   life   could  make   the   pulse   run 

quickly, 

Even  though  it  was  brief,  and  that  you  held 
That  a  free  gift  was  better  than  a  forced  — 
But  that's  all  over  —  I  will  keep  it,  too. 
I  never  gave  a  gift  and  took  it  again. 


286  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

If  the  wild  horse  should  break  the  chariot- 
pole, 
It  would  be  punished.     Should  that  be  in  the 

oath? 
[Two  of  the  WOMEN,  still  singing,  crouch  in 

front  of  him  holding  the  bowl  over  their  heads. 

He  spreads  his  hands  over  the  flame.] 
I  swear  to  be  obedient  in  all  things 
To  Conchobar,  and  to  uphold  his  children. 
CONCHOBAR.  We  are  one  being,  as  these 

flames  are  one : 

I  give  my  wisdom,  and  I  take  your  strength. 
Now  thrust  the  swords  into  the  flame,  and 

pray 
That  they  may  serve  the  threshold  and  the 

hearthstone 
With  faithful  service. 


ON  BAILEES   STRAND  287 

[The  KINGS  kneel  in  a  semicircle  before  the  two 

WOMEN  and  CUCHULAIN,  who  thrusts  his 

sword  into  the  flame.     They  all  put  the  points 

of  their  swords  into  the  flame.     The  third 

woman  is  at  the  back  near  the  big  door.] 

CUCHULAIN.  0  pure,  glittering  ones 

That  should  be  more  than  wife  or  friend  or 

mistress, 
Give  us  the  enduring  will,  the  unquenchable 

hope, 
The  friendliness  of  the  sword !  — 

[The  song  grows  louder,  and  the  last  words 
ring  out  clearly.     There  is  a  low  knocking 
at  the  door,  and  a  cry  of  "Open,  open."] 
CONCHOBAR.  Some    king    that    has    been 

loitering  on  the  way. 
Open  the  door,  for  I  would  have  all  know 


288  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

That  the  oath's  finished  and  Cuchulain  bound, 

And  that  the  swords  are  drinking  up  the  flame. 

[The  door  is  opened  by  the  third  WOMAN,  and 

a  YOUNG  MAN  with  a  drawn  sword  enters.] 

YOUNG  MAN.  I  am  of  Aoife's  army. 

[The  KINGS  rush  towards  him.    CUCHULAIN 

thritsts  his  sword  between.] 
CUCHULAIN.  Put  up  your  swords, 

He  is  but  one.    Aoife  is  far  away. 
YOUNG  MAN.  I  have  come  alone  into  the 

midst  of  you 
To   weigh    this   sword   against   Cuchulain's 

sword. 
CONCHOBAR.  And  are  you  noble?  for  if  of 

common  seed, 

You  cannot  weigh  your  sword  against  his 
sword 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  289 

But  in  mixed  battle. 

YOUNG  MAN.  I  am  under  bonds 

To  tell  my  name  to  no  man ;  but  it's  noble. 
CONCHOBAR.  But  I  would  know  your  name 

and  not  your  bonds. 

You  cannot  speak  in  the  Assembly  House, 
If  you  are  not  noble. 

FIRST  OLD  KING.     Answer  the  High  King ! 
YOUNG  MAN.  I  will  give  no  other  proof 

than  the  hawk  gives  — 
That  it's  no  sparrow! 
[He  is  siknt  for  a  moment  then  speaks  to  all.] 
Yet  look  upon  me,  kings. 
I,  too,  am  of  that  ancient  seed,  and  carry 
The  signs  about  this  body  and  hi  these  bones. 
CUCHULAIN.  To  have  shown  the  hawk's 
grey  feather  is  enough, 

VOL.   II.  —  U 


290  ON  BAILS' S   STRAND 

And  you  speak  highly,  too.     Give  me  that 

helmet. 
I'd  thought  they  had  grown  weary  sending 

champions. 
That  sword  and  belt  will  do.    This  fighting's 

welcome. 
The  High  King  there  has  promised  me  his 

wisdom ; 

But  the  hawk's  sleepy  till  its  well-beloved 
Cries  out  amid  the  acorns,  or  it  has  seen 
Its  enemy  like  a  speck  upon  the  sun. 
What's  wisdom  to  the  hawk,  when  that  clear 

eye 
Is  burning  nearer  up  in  the  high  air? 

[Looks  hard  at  YOUNG  MAN;  then  comes 

down  steps  and  grasps  YOUNG  MAN  by 

shoulder.] 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  291 

Hither  into  the  light.  [To  CONCHOBAR.] 

The  very  tint 

Of  her  that  I  was  speaking  of  but  now. 
Not  a  pin's  difference.        [To  YOUNG  MAN.] 

You    are    from    the 

North 
Where  there  are  many  that  have  that  tint  of 

hair  — 
Red-brown,    the    light    red-brown.      Come 

nearer,  boy, 

For  I  would  have  another  look  at  you. 
There's  more  likeness  —  a  pale,  a  stone-pale 

cheek. 
What  brought  you,  boy?    Have  you  no  fear 

of  death  ? 
YOUNG  MAN.  Whether  I  live  or  die  is  in 

the  Gods'  hands. 


292  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

CUCHULAIN.   That  is  all  words,  all  words, 

a  young  man's  talk. 
I  am  their  plough,  their  harrow,  their  very 

strength; 

For  he  that's  in  the  sun  begot  this  body 
Upon  a  mortal  woman,  and  I  have  heard  tell 
It  seemed  as  if  he  had  outrun  the  moon; 
That  he  must  always  follow  through  waste 

heaven, 

He  loved  so  happily.    He'll  be  but  slow 
To  break  a  tree  that  was  so  sweetly  planted. 
Let's  see  that  arm.     I'll  see  it  if  I  like. 
That  arm  had  a  good   father  and   a  good 

mother, 
But  it  is  not  like  this. 

YOUNG  MAN.  You  are  mocking  me ; 

You  think  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  fought. 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  293 

But  I'll  not  wrangle  but  with  this  talkative 

knife. 
CUCHULAIN.  Put  up  your  sword;   I  am 

not  mocking  you. 

I'd  have  you  for  my  friend,  but  if  it's  not 
Because  you  have  a  hot  heart  and  a  cold  eye, 
I  cannot  tell  the  reason.     [To  CONCHOBAR.] 
He  has  got  her  fierceness. 
And  nobody  is  as  fierce  as  those  pale  women. 
But  I  will  keep  him  with  me,  Conchobar, 
That  he  may  set  my  memory  upon  her 
When  the  day's  fading — you  will  stop  with  us, 
And  we  will  hunt  the  deer  and  the  wild  bulls; 
And,  when  we  have  grown  weary,  light  our 

fires 
Between  the  wood  and  water  or  on'  some 

mountain 


294  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

Where  the  shape  changers  of  the  morning 

come. 
The  High  King  there  would  make  a  mock  of 

me 

Because  I  did  not  take  a  wife  among  them. 
Why  do  you  hang  your  head — it's  a  good  life : 
The  head  grows  prouder  in  the  light  of  the 

dawn, 
And  friendship  thickens  in  the  murmuring 

dark 
Where  the  spare  hazels  meet  the  wool-white 

foam. 

But  I  can  see  there's  no  more  need  for  words 
And  that  you'll  be  my  friend  from  this  day 

out. 
GONCHOBAR.   He  has  come  thither  not  in 

his  own  name 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  295 

But  in  Queen  Aoife's,  and  has  challenged  you 
Because  you  are  the  foremost  man  of  us  all  — 

CUCHULAIX.   Well,  well,  what  matter? 

CONCHOBAR.  You  think  it  does  not  matter; 
And  that  a  fancy  lighter  than  the  air, 
A  whim  of   the  moment  has  more  matter 

in  it. 

For  having  none  that  shall  reign  after  you, 
You  cannot  think  as  I  do,  who  would  leave 
A  throne  too  high  for  insult. 

CUCHULAIN.  Let  your  children 

Re-mortar  their  inheritance,  as  we  have, 
And  put  more  muscle  on  —  I  will  give  you 

gifts, 
But  I'll  have  something  too  —  that  arm  ring, 

boy. 
We'll  have  the  quarrel  out  when  you  are  older. 


296  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

YOUNG  MAN.  There  is  no  man  I'd  sooner 

have  my  friend 
Than  you,  whose  name  has  gone  about  the 

world 

As  if  it  had  been  the  wind,  but  Aoife'd  say 
I  had  turned  coward. 

CUCHULAIN.  I  will  give  you  gifts 

That  Aoife'll  know,  and  all  her  people  know, 
To  have  come  from  me.          [Showing  cloak.] 
My  father  gave  me  this. 
He  came  to  try  me,  rising  up  at  dawn 
Out  of  the  cold  dark  of  the  rich  sea. 
He  challenged  me  to  battle,  but  before 
My  sword  had  touched  his  sword,  told  me  his 

name, 
Gave  me  this  cloak,  and  vanished.    It,  was 

woven 


ON  BAILEES   STRAND  297 

By  women  of  the  Country-under-Wave 
Out  of  the  fleeces  of  the  sea.     0 !  tell  her 
I  was  afraid,  or  tell  her  what  you  will. 
No ;  tell  her  that  I  heard  a  raven  croak 
On  the  north  side  of  the  house,  and  was  afraid. 
CONCHOBAR.   Some  witch  of  the  air  has 

troubled  Cuchulain's  mind. 
CUCHULAIN.  No  witchcraft.    His  head  is 

like  a  woman's  head 
I  had  a  fancy  for. 

CONCHOBAR.          A  witch  of  the  air 
Can  make  a  leaf  confound  us  with  memories. 
They  run  upon  the  wind  and  hurl  the  spells 
That  make  us  nothing,  out  of  the  invisible 

wind. 

They  have  gone  to  school  to  learn  the  trick  of 
it. 


298  O-ZVT  BAILEES  STRAND 

CUCHULAIN.   No,  no  —  there's  nothing  out 

of  common  here. 

The  winds  are  innocent  —  that  arm  ring,  boy. 
A  KING.  If  I've  your  leave,  I'll  take  this 

challenge  up. 
ANOTHER  KING.     No,  give   it  me,  High 

King,  for  this  wild  Aoife 
Has  carried  off  my  slaves. 

ANOTHER  KING.    No,  give  it  to  me, 
For  she  has  harried  me  in  house  and  herd. 
ANOTHER  KING.    I  claim  the  fight. 
OTHER  KINGS  [together].    And  I!   And  I! 

And  I. 
CUCHULAIN.    Back!   back!    Put  up  your 

swords !    Put  up  your  swords. 
There's  none  alive  that  shall  accept  a  challenge 
I  have  refused.    Laegaire,  put  up  your  sword. 


ON  BAILEES  STBAND  299 

YOUNG  MAN.     No,  let  them  come.    If 

they've  a  mind  for  it, 
I'll  try  it  out  with  any  two  together. 
CUCHULAIN.     That's  spoken  as  I'd  have 

spoken  it  at  your  age. 

But  you  are  in  my  house.    Whatever  man 
Would  fight  with  you  shall  fight  it  out  with 

me. 
They're  dumb,  they're  dumb.    How  many 

of  you  would  meet  [Draws  sword.] 

This  mutterer,  this  old  whistler,  this  sand- 
piper, 
This  edge  that's  greyer  than  the  tide,  this 

mouse 

That's  gnawing  at  the  timbers  of  the  world, 
This,  this Boy,  I  would  meet  them  all 

in  arms 


300  ON  BAILEES   STRAND 

If  I'd  a  son  like  you.     He  would  avenge 
me 

When  I  have  withstood  for  the  last  time  the 
men 

Whose  fathers,  brothers,  sons,  and  friends  I 
have  killed 

Upholding  Conchobar,  when  the  four  prov- 
inces 

Have  gathered  with  the  ravens  over  them. 

But  I'd  need  no  avenger.    You  and  I 

Would  scatter  them  like  water  from  a  dish. 
YOUNG  MAN.  We'll  stand  by  one  another 
from  this  out. 

Here  is  the  ring. 
CUCHULAIN.       No,  turn  and  turn  about. 

But  my  turn's  first  because  I  am  the  older. 

[Taking  up  cloak.] 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  301 

Nine  queens  out  of  the  Country-under-Wave 
Have  woven  it  with  the  fleeces  of  the  sea 
And  they  were  long  embroidering  at  it — Boy, 
If  I  had  fought  my  father,  he'd  have  killed  me. 
As  certainly  as  if  I  had  a  son 
And  fought  with  him,  I  should  be  deadly  to 

him. 

For  the  old  fiery  fountains  are  far  off 
And  every  day  there  is  less  heat  o'  the  blood. 

CONCHOBAR  [in  a  loud  voice].  No  more  of 

this.     I  will  not  have  this  friendship. 
Cuchulain  is  my  man,  and  I  forbid  it. 
He  shall  not  go  unfought,  for  I  myself  — 

CUCHULAIN.    I  will  not  have  it. 

CONCHOBAR.        You  lay  commands  on  me  ? 

CUCHULAIN  [seizing  CONCHOBAR].   You  shall 
not  stir,  High  King.     I'll  hold  you  there. 


302  ON  BAILEES  STEAND 

CONCHOBAR.  Witchcraft  has  maddened  you. 
THE   KINGS    [shouting].    Yes,  witchcraft, 

witchcraft ! 
FIRST  OLD  KING.   Some  witch  has  worked 

upon  your  mind,  Cuchulain. 
The  head  of  that  young  man  seemed  like  a 

woman's 

You'd  had  a  fancy  for.    Then  of  a  sudden 
You  laid  your  hands  on  the  High  King  himself ! 
CUCHULAIN.   And  laid  my  hands  on  the 

High  King  himself ! 
CONCHOBAR.   Some  witch  is  floating  in  the 

air  above  us. 

GUCHULAIN.     Yes,  witchcraft,  witchcraft. 
Witches  of  the  air. 

[To  YOUNG  MAN.] 
Which  of  the  shape  changers  put  you  to  it  ? 


OJV  BAILEES  STRAND  303 

Why  did  you  ?  Who  was  it  set  you  to  this  work  ? 
Out,  out !  I  say,  for  now  it's  sword  on  sword ! 

YOUNG  MAN.   But  .  .  .  but  I  did  not. 

CUCHULAIN.   Out,  I  say,  out,  out ! 

[YOUNG  MAN  goes  out,  followed  by  CUCHU- 
LAIN. The  KINGS  follow.] 

KINGS.  Hurry,  hurry!  We'll  be  too  late. 
Go  quicker  through  the  door !  Quicker, 
quicker  !  [Making  a  confused  noise.  The  three 
WOMEN  are  left  alone.  One  is  standing  by  the 
door.  Two  remain  at  one  side,  holding  bowl.] 

FIRST  WOMAN.  I  have  seen,  I  have  seen ! 

SECOND  WOMAN.  What  do  you  cry  aloud  ? 

FIRST  WOMAN.  The  ever-living  have  shown 
me  what's  to  come. 

THIRD  WOMAN.   How?    Where? 

FIRST  WOMAN.     In  the  ashes  of  the  bowl. 


30-1  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

SECOND  WOMAN.   While  you  were  holding 

it  between  your  hands? 
THIRD  WOMAN.   Speak  quickly. 
FIRST  WOMAN.  I   have  seen  Cuchulain's 

roof-tree 

Leap  into  fire,  and  the  walls  split  and  blacken. 
SECOND  WOMAN.   Cuchulain  has  gone  out 

to  die. 

THIRD  WOMAN.    0 !  0 ! 
SECOND  WOMAN.  Who  could  have  thought 

that  one  so  great  as  he 
Should  meet  his  end  at  this  unnoted  sword  ? 
FIRST  WOMAN.  Life  drifts  between  a  fool 

and  a  blind  man 

To  the  end,  and  nobody  can  know  his  end. 
SECOND  WOMAN.    Come,    look    upon    the 

quenching  of  this  greatness. 


ON  BAILEES  STEAND  305 

[The  other  two  go  to  the  door,  but  they  stop  for 

a  moment  upon  the  threshold  and  wail.] 

FIRST  WOMAN.  No  crying  out,  for  there'll 

be  need  of  cries 
And  knocking  at  the  breast  when  it's  all 

finished. 
[The  WOMEN  go  out.   There  is  a  sound  of 

clashing  swords  from  time  to  time  during 

what  follows.] 

[Enter  the  FOOL  dragging  the  BLIND  MAN.] 
FOOL.  You  have  eaten  it,  you  have  eaten 

it.     You  have  left  me  nothing  but  the  bones. 

\ 
[He  throws  BLIND  MAN  down  by  big  chair.] 

BLIND  MAN.  0  that  I  should  have  to  endure 
such  a  plague!  0  I  ache  all  over!  0 
I  am  pulled  to  pieces !  This  is  the  way  you 
pay  me  all  the  good  I  have  done  you. 

VOL.   II.  —  X 


306  ON  BAILS' S  STRAND 

FOOL.  You  have  eaten  it.  You  have  told 
me  lies.  You  said  it  was  done  to  a  turn.  You 
had  eaten  it  all  the  tune. 

BLIND  MAN.  What  would  have  happened  to 
you  but  for  me,  and  you  without  your  wits  ? 
If  I  did  not  take  care  of  you,  what  would  you 
do  for  food  and  warmth? 

FOOL.  You  take  care  of  me!  You  stay 
safe  and  send  me  into  every  kind  of  danger. 
You  sent  me  down  the  cliff  for  gulls'  eggs, 
while  you  warmed  your  blind  eyes  in  the  sun ; 
and  then  you  ate  all  that  were  good  for  food. 
You  left  me  the  eggs  that  were  neither  egg  nor 
bird.  [BLIND  MAN  tries  to  rise.  FOOL  makes 
him  lie  down  again.]  Keep  quiet  now  till  I 
shut  the  door.  [Goes  up.]  There  is  some  noise 
outside,  a  high,  vexing  noise,  so  that  I  can't 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  307 

be  listening  to  myself.  [Shuts  door.]  Why 
can't  they  be  quiet,  why  can't  they  be  quiet? 
[BLIND  MAN  tries  to  get  away.]  Ah !  you 
would  get  away,  would  you?  [Follows 
BLIND  MAN  and  brings  him  back.]  Lie  there, 
lie  there.  [Throws  him  down.  BLIND  MAN 
again  attempts  to  go.]  No,  you  won't  get  away. 
Lie  there  till  the  kings  come.  I'll  tell  them 
all  about  you.  I  will  tell  it  all.  How  you  sit 
warming  yourself,  when  you  have  made  me 
light  a  fire  of  sticks,  while  I  sit  blowing  it  with 
my  mouth.  Do  you  not  always  make  me  take 
the  windy  side  of  the  bush  when  it  blows, 
and  the  rainy  side  when  it  rains  ? 

BLIND  MAN.  Oh,  good  Fool,  listen  to  me. 
Think  of  the  care  I  have  taken  of  you.  I 
have  brought  you  to  many  a  warm  hearth, 


308  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

where  there  was  a  good  welcome  for  you,  but 
you  would  not  stay  there;  you  were  always 
wandering  about. 

FOOL.  The  last  time  you  brought  me  in,  it 
was  not  I  who  wandered  away,  but  you  that 
got  put  out  because  you  took  the  crubeen  out 
of  the  pot  when  nobody  was  looking.  Keep 
quiet  now. 

CUCHULAIN  [rushing  in].  Witchcraft! 
There  is  no  witchcraft  on  the  earth,  or  among 
the  witches  of  the  air,  that  these  hands  cannot 
break. 

FOOL.  Listen  to  me,  Cuchulain.  I  left 
huii  turning  the  fowl  at  the  fire.  He  ate  it  all, 
though  I  had  stolen  it.  He  left  me  nothing  but 
the  feathers. 

CUCHULAIN.   Fill  me  a  horn  of  ale. 


ON  BAILE'S  STRAND  309 

BLIND  MAN.  I  gave  him  what  he  likes  best. 
You  do  not  know  how  vain  this  fool  is.  He 
likes  nothing  so  well  as  a  feather.  [CUCHULAIN 
goes  up  to  big  door  and  looks  out  while  BLIND 
MAN  speaks.] 

FOOL.  He  left  me  nothing  but  the  bones  and 
feathers.  Nothing  but  the  feathers,  though 
I  had  stolen  it. 

CUCHULAIN  [turning].  Fill  me  that  horn. 
[FooL  brings  horn.]  Quarrels  here  too. 
[Drinks  and  hands  horn  to  FOOL.]  What  is 
there  between  you  two  that  is  worth  a  quar- 
rel? Out  with  it. 

BLIND  MAN.  Where  would  he  be  but  for 
me  ?  I  must  be  always  thinking  —  think- 
ing to  get  food  for  the  two  of  us,  and  when 
we've  got  it,  if  the  moon  is  at  the  full  or  the 


310  ON  BAILEES   STRAND 

tide  on  the  turn,  he'll  leave  the  rabbit  in  the 
snare  till  it  is  full  of  maggots,  or  let  the  trout 
slip  back  through  his  hands  into  the  stream. 
[FooL  has  begun  singing  while  BLIND  MAN  is 

speaking.] 
FOOL.   When  you  were  an  acorn  on  the 

tree-top, 

Then  was  I  an  eagle  cock; 
Now  that  you  are  a  withered  old  block, 
Still  am  I  an  eagle  cock. 
BLIND  MAN.  Listen  to  him  now.    That's 
the  sort  of  talk  I  have  to  put  up  with  day  out, 
day  in.     [The  FOOL  is  putting  the  feathers  of  the 
hen  into  his  hair.    CUCHULAIN  takes  a  hand- 
ful of  feathers  and  begins  to  wipe  the  blood  from 
his  sword  with  them.] 
FOOL.   He  has  taken  my  feathers  to  wipe 


ON  BAILEES   STRAND  311 

his  sword.  It  is  blood  that  he  is  wiping  from 
his  sword.  [CUCHULAIN  goes  up  to  big  door 
and  throws  feathers  away.] 

CUCHULAIN.  They  are  standing  about  his 
body.  They  will  not  awaken  him,  for  all  his 
witchcraft. 

BLIND  MAN.  It  is  that  young  champion  that 
he  has  killed.  He  that  came  out  of  Aoife's 
country. 

CUCHULAIN.  He  thought  to  have  saved 
himself  with  witchcraft. 

FOOL.  That  Blind  Man  there  said  he  would 
kill  you.  He  came  from  Aoife's  country  to  kill 
you.  That  Blind  Man  said  they  had  taught 
him  every  kind  of  weapon  that  he  might  do  it. 
But  I  always  knew  that  you  would  kill  him. 

CUCHULAIN.  You  knew  him  then? 


312  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

BLIND  MAN.  I  saw  him  when  I  had  my  eyes 
in  Aoife's  country. 

CUCHULAIN.   You  were  in  Aoife's  country  ? 

BLIND  MAN.  I  knew  him  and  his  mother 
there. 

CUCHULAIN.  He  was  about  to  speak  of  her 
when  he  died. 

BLIND  MAN.  He  was  a  queen's  son. 

GUCHULAIN  [rushing  at  and  seizing  BLIND 
MAN].  What  queen,  what  queen?  Was  it 
Scathach?  There  were  many  queens.  All 
the  rulers  there  were  queens. 

BLIND  MAN.  No,  not  Scathach. 

GUCHULAIN.  It  was  Uathach,  then  ?  Speak ! 
speak ! 

BLIND  MAN.  I  cannot  speak.  You  are 
clutching  me  too  tightly.  [CUCHULAIN  lets 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  313 

him  go.]  I  cannot  remember  who  it  was.  I 
am  not  certain.  It  was  some  queen. 

FOOL.  He  said  a  little  while  ago  that  the 
young  man  was  Aoife's  son. 

CUCHULAIN.  She !  No,  no.  She  had  no 
son  when  I  was  there. 

FOOL.  That  blind  man  there  said  that  she 
owned  him  for  her  son. 

CUCHULAIN.  I  had  rather  he  had  been  some 
other  woman's  son.  What  father  had  he? 
A  soldier  out  of  Alba  ?  She  was  an  amorous 
woman,  —  a  proud,  pale,  amorous  woman. 

BLIND  MAN.  None  knew  whose  son  he  was. 

CUCHULAIN.  None  knew !  Did  you  know, 
old  listener  at  doors  ? 

BLIND  MAN.  No,  no.    I  knew  nothing. 

FOOL.  He  said  awhile  ago  that  he  heard 


314  ON  BAILEES  STEAND 

Aoife  boast  that  she'd  never  but  the  one 
lover,  and  he  the  only  man  that  had  overcome 
her  in  battle.  [A  pause.] 

BLIND  MAN.  Somebody  is  trembling,  Fool. 
The  bench  is  shaking.  Why  are  you  trem- 
bling ?  Is  Cuchulain  going  to  hurt  us  ?  It  was 
not  I  who  told  you,  Cuchulain. 

FOOL.  It  is  Cuchulain  who  is  trembling. 
It  is  he  who  is  shaking  the  bench. 

BLIND  MAN.  It  is  his  own  son  that  he  has 
killed. 

CUCHULAIN.   'Twas  they  that  did  it,  the 

pale,  windy  people. 
Where?  where?  where?    My  sword  against 

the  thunder, 

But  no,  for  they  have  always  been  my  friends  ; 
And  though  they  love  to  blow  a  smoking  coal 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  315 

Till  it's  all  flame,  the  wars  they  blow  aflame 
Are  full  of  glory  and  heart-uplifting  pride, 
And  not  like  this.    The  wars  they  love  awaken 
Old  fingers  and  the  sleepy  strings  of  harps. 
Who  did  it,  then  ?  Are  you  afraid  ?  Speak  out ! 
For  I  have  put  you   under  my  protection, 
And  will  reward  you  well.  Dubthach  the  Chafer. 
He  had  an  old  grudge.    No,  for  he  is  with 

Maeve. 

Laegaire  did  it !    Why  do  you  not  speak  ? 
What  is  this  house?     [Pause.]    Now  I   re- 
member all. 
[Gomes  before  CONCHOBAE'S  chair  and  strikes 

out  with  his  sword.] 

'Twas  you  who  did  it  — you  who  sat  up  there, 
With  your  old  rod  of  kingship,  like  a  magpie, 
Nursing  a  stolen  spoon.  No,  not  a  magpie. 


316  ON  BAILEES  STRAND 

A  maggot  that  is  eating  up  the  earth ! 
Yes,  but  a  magpie,  for  he's  flown  away. 
Where  did  he  fly  to  ? 

BLIND  MAN.  He  is  outside  the  door. 

CUCHULAIN.  Outside  the  door  ? 

BLIND  MAN.  Between  the  door  and  the  sea. 

CUCHULAIN.  Conchobar,  Conchobar!  the 
sword  into  your  heart. 

[He  rushes  out.    Pause.    FOOL  creeps  up  to 
big  door  and  looks  after  him.] 

FOOL.  He  is  going  up  to  King  Conchobar. 
They  are  all  about  the  young  man.  No,  no. 
He  is  standing  still.  There  is  a  great  wave 
going  to  break,  and  he  is  looking  at  it.  Ah ! 
now  he  is  running  down  to  the  sea,  but  he  is 
holding  up  his  sword  as  if  he  were  going  into 
a  fight.  [Pause.]  Well  struck !  well  struck ! 


ON  BAILEES  STRAND  317 

BLIND  MAN.  What  is  he  doing  now  ? 

FOOL.   Oh !  he  is  fighting  the  waves ! 

BLIND  MAN.  He  sees  King  Conchobar's 
crown  on  every  one  of  them. 

FOOL.  There,  he  has  struck  at  a  big  one ! 
He  has  struck  the  crown  off  it.  He  has  made 
the  foam  fly.  There  again,  another  big  one ! 

BLIND  MAN.  Where  are  the  kings?  What 
are  the  kings  doing? 

FOOL.  They  are  shouting  and  running 
down  to  the  shore,  and  the  people  are  run- 
ning out  of  the  houses.  They  are  all  running. 

BLIND  MAN.  You  say  they  are  running  out 
of  the  houses.  There  will  be  nobody  left  in 
the  houses.  Listen,  Fool. 

FOOL.  There,  he  is  down.  He  is  up  again 
He  is  going  out  into  the  deep  water.  There 


318  ON  BAILEES  STBAND 

is  a  big  wave.  It  has  gone  over  him.  - 1  can- 
not see  him  now.  He  has  killed  kings  and 
giants,  but  the  waves  have  mastered  him, 
the  waves  have  mastered  him. 

BLIND  MAN.  Come  here,  Fool ! 

FOOL.  The  waves  have  mastered  him ! 

BLIND  MAN.  Come  here,  I  say. 

FOOL  [coming  towards  him,  but  looking  back- 
wards towards  the  door].  What  is  it? 

BLIND  MAN.  There  will  be  nobody  hi  the 
houses.  Come  this  way;  come  quickly.  The 
ovens  will  be  full.  We  will  put  our  hands  into 
the  ovens.  [They  go  out.] 

CURTAIN 


THE   KING'S   THKESHOLD 


To  FRANK  FAT 

Because  of  his  beautiful  speaking  and 
acting  in  the  part  of  SEANCHAN. 


PERSONS 

KING  GUAIRE 

SEANCHAN'S  PUPILS 

THE  MAYOR  OF  KINVARA 

TWO  CRIPPLES 

SEANCHAN  (pronounced  Shanahan) 

THE  LORD  CHAMBERLAIN 

A  MONK 

TWO  COURT  LADIES 

A  SOLDIER 

TWO  PRINCESSES 

FEDELM 


THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

SCENE.  Steps  before  the  palace  of  KING 
GUAIRE  at  Gort.  A  table  in  front  of  steps 
at  one  side  with  food  on  it.  SEANCHAN 
lying  on  steps.  PUPILS  before  steps.  KING 
on  the  upper  step  before  a  curtained  door. 
KING.  I  welcome  you  that  have  the 

mastery 

Of  the  two  kinds  of  Music :  the  one  kind 
Being  like  a  woman,  the  other  like  a  man. 
Both  you  that  understand  stringed  instru- 
ments, 

And  how  to  mingle  words  and  notes  together 
So  artfully,  that  all  the  Art's  but  Speech 

323 


324          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

Delighted  with  its  own  music;  and  you  that 

carry 

The  long  twisted  horn,  and  understand 
The  heady  notes  that,  being  without  words, 
Can  hurry  beyond  Time  and  Fate  and  Change. 
For  the  high  angels  that  drive  the  horse  of 

Time- 

The  golden  one  by  day,  by  night  the  silver  — 
Are  not  more  welcome  to  one  that  loves  the 

world 
For  some  fair  woman's  sake. 

I  have  called  you  hither 
To  save  the  life  of  your  great  master,  Seanchan, 
For  all  day  long  it  has  flamed  up  or  flickered 
To  the  fast  cooling  hearth. 

OLDEST  PUPIL.  When  did  he  sicken  ? 

Is  it  a  fever  that  is  wasting  him  ? 


THE  KING'S    THRESHOLD  325 

KING.    No    fever    or    sickness.     He    has 

chosen  death : 

Refusing  to  eat  or  drink,  that  he  may  bring 
Disgrace  upon  me ;  for  there  is  a  custom, 
An  old  and  foolish  custom,  that  if  a  man 
Be  wronged,  or  think  that  he  is  wronged,  and 

starve 

Upon  another's  threshold  till  he  die, 
The  common  people,  for  all  time  to  come, 
Will  raise  a  heavy  cry  against  that  threshold, 
Even  though  it  be  the  King's. 

OLDEST  PUPIL.         My  head  whirls  round ; 
I  do  not  know  what  I  am  to  think  or  say. 
I  owe  you  all  obedience,  and  yet 
How  can  I  give  it  when  the  man  I  have  loved 
More    than    all   others   thinks    that   he    is 
wronged 


326          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

So  bitterly,  that  he  will  starve  and  die 
Rather  than  bear  it  ?   Is  there  any  man 
Would  throw  his  life  away  for  a  light  issue? 

KING.  It  is  but  fitting  that  you  take  his  side 
'Till  you  have  heard  how  light  the  issue  is 
That  has  put  us  by  the  ears.    Three  days  ago 
I  yielded  to  the  outcry  of  my  courtiers  — 
Bishops,  Soldiers,  and  Makers  of  the  Law  — 
Who    long    had    thought    it    against    their 

dignity 

For  a  mere  man  of  words  to  sit  amongst  them 
At  my  own  table.    When  the  meal  was  spread, 
I  ordered  Seanchan  to  a  lower  table; 
And  when  he  pleaded  for  the  poets'  right, 
Established  at  the  establishment  of  the  world, 
I  said  that  I  was  King,  and  that  all  rights 
Had  their  original  fountain  in  some  King, 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  327 

And  that  it  was  the  men  who  ruled  the  world, 
And  not  the  men  who  sang  to  it,  who  should 

sit 
Where    there   was    the   most   honour.    My 

courtiers  — 

Bishops,  Soldiers,  and  Makers  of  the  Law  — 
Shouted  approval ;  and  amid  that  noise 
Seanchan  went  out,  and  from  that  hour, 
Altho'  there  is  good  food  and  drink  beside 

him, 
Has  eaten  nothing. 

OLDEST  PUPIL.        I  breathe  again. 
You  have  taken  a  great  burden  from  my 

mind, 

For  that  old  custom  is  not  worth  dying  for. 
KING.  Persuade  him  to  eat  or  drink.    'Till 

yesterday 


328          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

I  thought  that  hunger  and  weakness  had  been 

enough ; 

But  finding  them  too  trifling  and  too  light 
To  hold  his  mouth  from  biting  at  the  grave, 
I  called   you  hither,  and  all  my  hope's  hi 

you, 

And  certain  of  his  neighbours  and  good  friends 
That  I  have  sent  for.    While  he  is  lying  there 
Perishing,  my  good  name  in  the  world 
Is  perishing  also.    I  cannot  give  way, 
Because  I  am  King.    Because  if  I  gave  way, 
My  Nobles  would  call  me  a  weakling,  and  it 

may  be 
The  very  throne  be  shaken. 

OLDEST  PUPIL.  I  will  persuade  him. 

Your   words   had   been   enough  persuasion, 

King; 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  329 

But  being  lost  in  sleep  or  reverie, 
He  cannot  hear  them. 

KING.  Make  him  eat  or  drink. 

Nor  is  it  all  because  of  my  good  name 
I'd  have  him  do  it,  for  he  is  a  man 
That  might  well  hit  the  fancy  of  a  king 
Banished  out  of  his  country,  or  a  woman's, 
Or  any  other's  that  can  judge  a  man 
For  what  he  is.    But  I  that  sit  a  throne, 
And  take  my  measure  from  the  needs  of  the 

State, 
Call  his  wild  thought  that  overruns  the 

measure, 
Making  words  more  than  deeds,  and  his  proud 

will, 

That  would  unsettle  all,  most  mischievous, 
And  he  himself  a  most  mischievous  man. 


330          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

[The  KING  has  gone  up  the  steps;  he  turns 

to  go,  and  then  returns  again.] 
Promise   a    house    with    grass    and    tillage 

land, 

An  annual  payment,  jewels  and  silken  ware, 
Or  anything  but  that  old  right  of  the  poets. 

[He  goes  into  palace.] 
OLDEST  PUPIL.  The   King  did  wrong   to 

abrogate  our  right; 

But  Seanchan,  who  talks  of  dying  for  it, 
Talks  foolishly.    Look  at  us,  Seanchan; 
Waken  out  of  your  dream  and  look  at  us, 
Who  have  ridden  under  the  moon  and  all  the 

day, 

Until  the  moon  has  all  but  come  again, 
That  we  might  be  beside  you. 
SEANCHAN   [half  turning  round,  leaning  on 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  331 

his  elbow,  and  speaking  as  if  in  a  dream]. 

I  was  but  now 

In  Almhuin,  in  a  great  high-raftered  house, 
With  Finn  and  Osgar.     Odours  of  roast  flesh 
Rose  round  me,  and  I  saw  the  roasting-spits; 
And  then  the  dream  was  broken,  and  I  saw 
Grania  dividing  salmon  by  a  stream ; 
And  then  I  was  awakened  by  your  voice. 
OLDEST   PUPIL.  Hunger   has   made   you 

dream  of  roasting  flesh; 
And  though  I  all  but  weep  to  think  of  it, 
The  hunger  of  the  crane,  that  starves  himself 
At  the  full  moon  because  he  is  afraid 
Of  his  own  shadow  and  the  glittering  water, 
Seems  to  me  little  more  fantastical 
Than  this  of  yours. 
SEANCHAN.        Why,  that's  the  very  truth. 


332          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

It  is  as  though  the  moon  changed  every 

thing  — 

Myself  and  all  that  I  can  hear  and  see ; 
For  when  the  heavy  body  has  grown  weak, 
There's  nothing  that  can  tether  the  wild  mind 
That,  being  moonstruck  and  fantastical, 
Goes  where  it  fancies.    I  had  even  thought 
I  knew  your  voice  and  face,  but  now  the 

words 

Are  so  unlikely  that  I  needs  must  ask 
Who  is  it  that  bids  me  put  my  hunger  by. 
OLDEST  PUPIL.  I   am   your   oldest  pupil, 

Seanchan ; 

The  one  that  has  been  with  you  many  years  — 
So  many,  that  you  said  at  Candlemas 
That  I  had  almost  done  with  school,  and  knew 
All  but  all  that  poets  understand. 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  333 

SEANCHAN.  My   oldest   pupil?    No,    that 

cannot  be, 

For  it  is  some  one  of  the  courtly  crowds 
That  have  been  round  about  me  from  sun- 
rise, 
And  I  am  tricked  by  dreams;  but  I'll  refute 

them. 

At  Candlemas  I  bid  that  pupil  tell  me 
Why  poetry  is  honoured,  wishing  to  know 
If  he  had  any  weighty  argument 
For  distant  countries  and  strange,  churlish 

Kings. 
What  did  he  answer  ? 

OLDEST  PUPIL.  I  said  the  poets  hung 

Images  of  the  life  that  was  in  Eden 
About  the  child-bed  of  the  world,  that  it, 
Looking  upon  those  images,  might  bear 


334          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

Triumphant  children.     But  why  must  I  stand 

here, 

Repeating  an  old  lesson,  while  you  starve  ? 
SEANCHAN.  Tell  on,  for  I  begin  to  know  the 

voice. 

What  evil  thing  will  come  upon  the  world 
If  the  Arts  perish  ? 

OLDEST  PUPIL.    If  the  Arts  should  perish, 
The  world  that  lacked  them  would  be  like  a 

woman, 

That  looking  on  the  cloven  lips  of  a  hare, 
Brings  forth  a  hare-lipped  child. 

SEANCHAN.  But  that's  not  all  : 

For  when  I  asked  you  how  a  man  should 

guard 

Those  images,  you  had  an  answer  also, 
If  you're  the  man  that  you  have  claimed  to  be, 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  335 

Comparing  them  to  venerable  things 
God  gave  to  men  before  he  gave  them  wheat. 
OLDEST  PUPIL.   I  answered  —  and  the  word 

was  half  your  own  — 
That  he  should  guard  them  as  the  men  of 

Dea 
Guard  their  four  treasures,  as  the  Grail  King 

guards 

His  holy  cup,  or  the  pale,  righteous  horse 
The  jewel  that  is  underneath  his  horn, 
Pouring  out  life  for  it  as  one  pours  out 
Sweet  heady  wine.  .  .  .    But  now  I  under- 
stand; 

You  would  refute  me  out  of  my  own  mouth ; 
And  yet  a  place  at  table,  near  the  King, 
Is  nothing  of  great  moment,  Seanchan. 
How  does  so  light  a  thing  touch  poetry  ? 


336          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

[SEANCHAN  is  now  sitting  up.    He  still  looks 

dreamily  in  front  of  him.] 
SEANCHAN.  At  Candlemas  you  called  this 

poetry 

One  of  the  fragile,  mighty  things  of  God, 
That  die  at  an  insult. 
OLDEST  PUPIL  [to   other   PUPILS].     Give 

me  some  true  answer, 
For    on    that    day    we    spoke    about    the 

Court, 

And  said  that  all  that  was  insulted  there 
The  world  insulted,  for  the  Courtly  life, 
Being  the  first  comely  child  of  the  world, 
Is  the  world's  model.    How  shall  I  answer 

him? 

Can  you  not  give  me  some  true  argument  ? 
I  will  not  tempt  him  with  a  lying  one. 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  337 

YOUNGEST  PUPIL.    0,  tell  him   that   the 

lovers  of  his  music 
Have  need  of  him. 

SEANCHAN.  But  I  am  labouring 

For  some  that  shall  be  born  in  the  nick  o'  tune 
And  find  sweet  nurture,  that  they  may  have 

voices, 

Even  in  anger,  like  the  strings  of  harps; 
For  how  could  they  be  born  to  majesty 
If  I  had  never  made  the  golden  cradle  ? 
YOUNGEST  PUPIL     [throwing     himself    at 

SEANCHAN'S  feet].    Why  did  you  take 

me  from  my  father's  fields  ? 
If  you  would  leave  me  now,  what  shall  I  love  ? 
Where  shall  I  go  ?    What  shall  I  set  my  hand 

to? 
And  why  have  you  put  music  in  my  ears, 


VOL.   II.  Z 


338          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

If  you  would  send  me  to  the  clattering  houses  ? 
I  will  throw  down  the  trumpet  and  the  harp, 
For  how  could  I  sing  verses  or  make  music 
With  none  to  praise  me,  and  a  broken  heart  ? 
SEANCHAN.  What  was  it  that  the  poets 

promised  you, 

If  it  was  not  their  sorrow  ?    Do  not  speak. 
Have  I  not  opened  school  on  these  bare  steps, 
And  are  not  you  the  youngest  of  my  scholars  ? 
And  I  would  have  all  know  that  when  all  falls 
In  ruin,  poetry  calls  out  in  joy, 
Being  the  scattering  hand,  the  bursting  pod, 
The  victim's  joy  among  the  holy  flame, 
God's  laughter  at  the  shattering  of  the  world. 
And  now  that  joy  laughs  out,  and  weeps  and 

burns 
On  these  bare  steps. 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  339 

YOUNGEST  PUPIL.     0  master,  do  not  die ! 
OLDEST  PUPIL.   Trouble  him  with  no  use- 
less argument. 

Be  silent !    There  is  nothing  we  can  do 
Except  find  out  the  King  and  kneel  to  him, 
And  beg  our  ancient  right. 

For  here  are  some 

To  say  whatever  we  could  say  and  more, 
And  fare  as  badly.    Come,  boy,  that  is  no  use. 
[Raises  YOUNGEST  PUPIL.] 
If  it  seem  well  that  we  beseech  the  King, 
Lay  down  your  harps  and  trumpets  on  the 

stones 

In  silence,  and  come  with  me  silently. 
Come  with  slow  footfalls,  and  bow  all  your 

heads, 
For  a  bowed  head  becomes  a  mourner  best. 


340          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

[They  lay  harps  and  trumpets  down  one 
by  one,  and  then  go  out  very  solemnly 
and  slowly,  following  one  another.  Enter 
MAYOR,  Two  CRIPPLES,  and  an  old  SER- 
VANT. The  MAYOR,  who  has  an  ogham 
stick  in  his  hand,  crosses.  BRIAN  takes 
food  out  of  basket.  The  CRIPPLES  are 
interested  in  the  basket.] 
MAYOR  [as  he  crosses].  "Chief  Poet," 
"Ireland,"  "Townsman,"  "grazing land," 

Those   are   the   words   I   have   to   keep   in 
mind  — 

"Chief     Poet,"     "Ireland,"     "Townsman," 
"grazing  land." 

I  have  the  words.    They  are  all  upon  the 
ogham. 

But  what's  their  order  ? 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  341 

FIRST    CRIPPLE.  The    King    were 

rightly  served 

If  Seanchan  drove  his  good  luck  away. 
What's  there  about  a  king,  that's  in  the  world 
From  birth  to  burial,  like  another  man, 
That  he  should  change  old  customs,  that  were 

in  it 

As  long  as  ever  the  world  has  been  a  world? 
SECOND  CRIPPLE.     If  I  were  king  I  would 

not  meddle  with  him, 
For  there  is  something  queer  about  a  poet. 
I  knew  of  one  that  would  be  making  rhyme 
Under  a  thorn  at  crossing  of  three  roads. 
He  was  as  ragged  as  ourselves,  and  yet 
He  was  no  sooner  dead  than  every  thorn  tree 
From  Inchy  to  Kiltartan  withered  away. 
FIRST  CRIPPLE.   The  King  is  but  a  fool ! 


342  THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD 

MAYOR.  I  am  getting  ready. 

FIRST  CRIPPLE.  A  poet  has  power  from 

beyond  the  world, 

That  he  may  set  our  thoughts  upon  old  times, 
And  lucky  queens  and  little  holy  fish 
That  rise  up  every  seventh  year 

MAYOR.  Hush!  hush! 

FIRST  CRIPPLE.  To  cure  the  crippled. 

MAYOR.  I  am  half  ready  now. 

BRIAN.  There's  not  a  mischief  I'd  begrudge 

the  King 
If  it  were  any  other 

MAYOR.  Hush !    I  am  ready. 

BRIAN.  That  died  to  get  it.    I  have  brought 

out  the  food, 

And  if  my  master  will  not  eat  of  it, 
I'll  home  and  get  provision  for  his  wake, 


1  THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  343 

For  that's  no  great  way  off.    Well,  have  your 

say, 

But  don't  be  long  about  it. 
MAYOR   [going  close  to  SEANCHAN], 

Chief  Poet  of  Ireland, 

I  am  the  Mayor  of  your  own  town  Kinvara, 
And  I  am  come  to  tell  you  that  the  news 
Of  this  great  trouble  with  the  King  of  Gort 
Has  plunged  us  in  deep  sorrow — part  for  you, 
Our  honoured  townsman,  part  for  our  good 
town. 

[Begins  to  hesitate;  scratching  his  head.] 
But  what  comes  now  ?    Something  about  the 

King. 
BRIAN.   Get  on!  get  on!    The  food  is  ready 

now. 
MAYOR.    Don't  hurry  me. 


344          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

FIRST  CRIPPLE.    Give  us  a  taste  of  it. 
He'll  not  begrudge  it. 

SECOND  CRIPPLE.  Let  them  that  have  their 

limbs 

Starve  if  they  will.    We  have  to  keep  in  mind 
The  stomach  God  has  left  to  us. 

MAYOR.  Hush !  I  have  it ! 

The  King  was  said  to  be  most  friendly  to  us, 
And  we  have  reason,  as  you'll  recollect, 
For  thinking  that  he  was  about  to  give 
Those  grazing  lands  inland  we  so  much  need, 
Being  pinched  between  the  water  and  the 

stones. 
Our  mowers  mow  with  knives  between  the 

stones ; 

The  sea  washes  the  meadows.    You  know  well 
We  have  asked  nothing  but  what's  reasonable. 


THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD  345 

SEANCHAN.  Reason    in    plenty.    Yellowy 

white  hair, 

A  hollow  face,  and  not  too  many  teeth. 
How  comes  it  he  has  been  so  long  in  the  world 
And  not  found  Reason  out  ? 

[While  saying  this,  he  has  turned  half  round. 

He  hardly  looks  at  the  MAYOR.] 
BRIAN     [trying    to    putt    MAYOR    away]. 
What  good  is  there 

In  telling  him  what  he  has  heard  all  day ! 
I  will  set  food  before  him. 
MAYOR     [shoving    BRIAN    away].      Don't 

hurry  me ! 

It's  small  respect  you're  showing  to  the  town ! 
Get  farther  off !    [To  SEANCHAN.]    We  would 

not  have  you  think, 
Weighty  as  these  considerations  are, 


346          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

That  they  have  been  as  weighty  in  our  minds 
As  our  desire  that  one  we  take  much  pride  in, 
A  man  that's  been  an  honour  to  our  town, 
Should  live  and  prosper ;  therefore  we  beseech 

you 

To  give  way  in  a  matter  of  no  moment, 
A  matter  of  mere  sentiment  —  a  trifle  — 
That  we  may  always  keep  our  pride  in  you. 
[He  finishes  this  speech  with  a  pompous  air, 
motions  to  BRIAN  to  bring  the  food  to  SEAN- 
CHAN,  and  sits  on  seat.] 
BRIAN.   Master,  master,  eat  this !    It's  not 

king's  food, 

That's  cooked  for  everybody  and  nobody. 
Here's  barley  bread  out  of  your  father's  oven,  • 
And  dulse  from  Duras.    Here  is  the  dulse, 
your  honour; 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  347 

It's  wholesome,  and  has  the  good  taste  of  the 

sea. 

[Takes  dulse  in  one  hand  and  bread  in  other 

and  presses  them  into  SEANCHAN'S  hands. 

SEANCHAN   shows  by  his  movement  his 

different  feeling  to  BRIAN.] 

FIRST    CRIPPLE.  He    has    taken    it,    and 

there'll  be  nothing  left ! 
SECOND  CRIPPLE.  Nothing  at  all ;  he  wanted 

his  own  sort. 

What's  honey  to  a  cat,  corn  to  a  dog, 
Or  a  green  apple  to  a  ghost  in  a  church- 
yard? 

SEANCHAN   [pressing  food  back  into  BRIAN'S 
hands].    Eat  it  yourself,  for  you  have 
come  a  journey, 
And  it  may  be  have  eaten  nothing  on  the  way. 


348          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

BRIAN.  How  could  I  eat  it,  and  your  honour 

starving ! 

It  is  your  father  sends  it,  and  he  cried 
Because  the  stiffness  that  is  in  his  bones 
Prevented  him  from  coming,  and  bid  me  tell 

you 

That  he  is  old,  that  he  has  need  of  you, 
And  that  the  people  will  be  pointing  at  him, 
And  he  not  able  to  lift  up  his  head, 
If  you  should  turn  the  King's  favour  away; 
And  he  adds  to  it,  that  he  cared  you  well, 
And  you  in  your  young  age,  and  that  it's  right 
That  you  should  care  him  now. 

SEANCHAN    [who  is  now  interested].     And 

is  that  all? 
What  did  my  mother  say? 

BRIAN.  She  gave  no  message ; 


THE  SING'S   THRESHOLD  349 

For  when  they  told  her  you  were  resolved  to 

starve, 

Or  get  again  the  ancient  right  of  the  poets, 
She  said :  "  No  message  can  do  any  good. 
He  will  not  send  the  answer  that  you  want. 
We   cannot   change   him."    And   she   went 

indoors, 

Lay  down  upon  the  bed,  and  turned  her  face 
Out   of    the    light.      And    thereupon    your 

father 
Said:    "Tell  him  that  his  mother  sends  no 

message, 
Albeit  broken  down  and  miserable." 

[A  pause.] 
Here  is  a  pigeon's  egg  from  Duras,  and  these 

others 
Were  laid  by  your  own  hens. 


350  THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD 

SEANCHAN.  She  has  sent  no  message. 

Our  mothers  know  us;   they  know  us  to  the 

bone. 

They  knew  us  before  birth,  and  that  is  why 
They  know  us  even  better  than  the  sweet- 
hearts 
Upon  whose  breasts  we  have  lain. 

Go  quickly !    Go 
And  tell  them  that  my  mother  was  in  the 

right. 

There  is  no  answer.    Go  and  tell  them  that. 
Go  tell  them  that  she  knew  me. 

MAYOR.  .      What  is  he  saying  ? 

I  never  understood  a  poet's  talk 
More  than  the  baa  of  a  sheep ! 
[Comes  over  from  seat.    SEANCHAN  turns 
away.] 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  351 

You  have  not  heard, 
It  may  be,  having  been  so  much  away, 
How  many  of  the  cattle  died  last  winter 
From  lacking  grass,  and  that  there  was  much 

sickness 

Because  the  poor  have  nothing  but  salt  fish 
To  live  on  through  the  winter  ? 

BRIAN.  Get  away, 

And  leave  the  place  to  me !    It's  my  turn  now, 
For  your  sack's  empty ! 

MAYOR.  Is  it  get  away ! 

Is  that  the  way  I'm  to  be  spoken  to ! 
Am  I  not  Mayor  ?    Amn't  I  authority  ? 
Amn't  I  in  the  King's  place?    Answer  me 

that! 

BRIAN.  Then  show  the  people  what  a  king 
is  like : 


352         THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

Pull  down  old  merings  and  root  custom  up, 
Whitewash  the  dung-hills,  fatten  hogs  and 

geese, 

Hang  your  gold  chain  about  an  ass's  neck, 
And  burn  the  blessed  thorn  trees  out  of  the 

fields, 

And  drive  what's  comely  away ! 
MAYOR.  Holy  Saint  Coleman ! 

FIRST  CRIPPLE.          Fine  talk!  fine  talk! 

What  else  does  the  King  do  ? 
He  fattens  hogs  and  drives  the  poet  away ! 
SECOND  CRIPPLE.  He    starves    the    song- 
maker  ! 

FIRST  CRIPPLE.    He  fattens  geese ! 
MAYOR.  How  dare  you  take  his  name  into 

your  mouth ! 
How  dare  you  lift  your  voice  against  the  King ! 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  353 

What  would  we  be  without  him  ? 

BRIAN.  Why  do  you  praise  him  ? 

I  will  have  nobody  speak  well  of  him, 
Or  any  other  king  that  robs  my  master. 

MAYOR.  And  had  he  not  the  right  to  ?    and 

the  right 
To  strike  your  master's  head  off,  being  the 

King, 

Or  yours  or  mine  ?  I  say, "  Long  live  the  King ! " 
Because  he  does  not  take  our  heads  from  us. 
Call  out  "  Long  life  to  him ! " 

BRIAN.  Call  out  for  him ! 

[Speaking  at  same  time  with  MAYOR.] 
There's  nobody  will  call  out  for  him, 
But  the  smiths  will  turn  their  anvils, 
The  millers  turn  their  wheels, 
The  farmers  turn  their  churns, 

VOL.   II. 2  A 


354         THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

The  witches  turn  their  thumbs, 
Till  he  be  broken  and  splintered  into  pieces. 
MAYOR   [at  same   time  with   BRIAN].     He 

might,  if  he'd  a  mind  to  it, 
Be  digging  out  our  tongues, 
Or  dragging  out  our  hair, 
Or  bleaching  us  like  calves, 
Or  weaning  us  like  lambs, 
But  for  the  kindness  and  the  softness  that  is 
in  him.  [They  gasp  for  breath.] 

FIRST  CRIPPLE.  I'll  curse  him  till  I  drop ! 
[Speaking  at  same  time  as  SECOND  CRIPPLE 
and  MAYOR  and  BRIAN,  who  have  begun 
again.] 

The  curse  of  the  poor  be  upon  him, 
The  curse  of  the  widows  upon  him, 
The  curse  of  the  children  upon  him, 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  355 

The  curse  of  the  bishops  upon  him, 
Until  he  be  as  rotten  as  an  old  mushroom ! 
SECOND  CRIPPLE    {speaking  at  same   time 

as  FIRST  CRIPPLE  and  MAYOR  and  BRIAN]. 
The  curse  of  wrinkles  be  upon  him ! 
Wrinkles  where  his  eyes  are, 
Wrinkles  where  his  nose  is, 
Wrinkles  where  his  mouth  is, 
And  a  little  old  devil  looking  out  of  every 

wrinkle ! 
BRIAN   [speaking  at  same  time  with  MAYOR 

and  CRIPPLES].  Nobody'll  call  for  him, 
And  nobody  will  sing  for  him, 
And  nobody  will  hunt  for  him, 
And  nobody  will  fish  for  him, 
And  nobody  will  pray  for  him, 
But  ever  and  always  curse  him  and  abuse  him. 


356          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

MAYOR  [speaking  at  same  time  with 
CRIPPLE  and  BRIAN].  What  good  is  in 
a  poet, 

Has  he  money  in  a  stocking, 
Or  cider  in  the  cellar, 
Or  flitches  in  the  chimney, 
Or  anything  anywhere  but  his  own  idleness  ? 
[BRIAN  seizes  MAYOR.] 
MAYOR.  Help !  help !    Am  I  not  authority  ? 
BRIAN.  That's    how    I'll    shout    for    the 

King! 
MAYOR.  Help!  help!    Am   I   not   in   the 

King's  place  ? 
BRIAN.  I'll  teach  him  to  be  kind  to  the 

poor! 

MAYOR.  Help!  help!  Wait  till  we  are  in 
Kinvara ! 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  357 

FIRST  CRIPPLE  [beating  MAYOR  on  the  legs 
with  crutch],  I'll  shake  the  royalty  out 
of  his  legs ! 

SECOND  CRIPPLE  [burying  his  nails  in 
MAYOR'S  face].  I'll  scramble  the  ermine 
out  of  his  skin ! 

Enter  CHAMBERLAIN 
[Comes    down    steps,    shouting,   "Silence! 

silence!  silence!"] 
CHAMBERLAIN.     How  dare  you  make  this 

uproar  at  the  doors, 
Deafening  the  very  greatest  in  the  land, 
As  if  the  farmyards  and  the  rookeries 
Had  all  been  emptied ! 
FIRST  CRIPPLE.  It  is  the  Chamber- 

lain. 

[CRIPPLES  go  out.] 


358  TEE  KING'S   THRESHOLD 

CHAMBERLAIN.  Pick  up  the  litter  there,  and 

get  you  gone ! 

Be  quick  about  it !    Have  you  no  respect 
For  this  worn  stair,  this  all  but  sacred  door, 
Where  suppliants  and  tributary  kings 
Have  passed,  and  the  world's  glory  knelt  in 

silence  ? 
Have  you  no  reverence  for  what  all  other 

men 
Hold  honourable  ? 

BRIAN.   If  I  speak  my  mind, 
I'd  say  the  King  would  have  his  luck  again 
If  he  would  let  my  master  have  his  rights. 
CHAMBERLAIN.  Pick  up  your  litter !    Take 

your  noise  away ! 

Make  haste,  and  get  the  clapper  from  the  bell ! 
BRIAN    [putting   last  of  food  into  basket]. 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  359 

What  do  the  great  and  powerful  care  for  rights 
That  have  no  armies ! 

[CHAMBERLAIN  begins  shoving  them  out  with 

his  staff.] 

MAYOR.  My  lord,  I  am  not  to  blame. 

I'm  the  King's  man,  and  they  attacked  me 

for  it. 
BRIAN.  We  have  our  prayers,  our  curses 

and  our  prayers, 

And  we  can  give  a  great  name  or  a  bad  one. 

[MAYOR  is  shoving  BRIAN  out  before  him 

with  one  hand.      He  keeps  his  face  to 

CHAMBERLAIN,  and  keeps  bowing.     The 

CHAMBERLAIN  shoves  him  with  his  staff.] 

MAYOR.  We  could  not  make  the  poet  eat, 

my  lord. 

[Chamberlain  shoves  him  with  staff.] 


360  THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

Much  honoured  [is  shoved  again.  ]  —  honoured 
to  speak  with  you,  my  lord ; 

But  when  the  intellect  is  out,  my  lord, 

Nobody  but  a  woman's  any  good. 

[Same  business  for  Chamberlain.] 

Much  honoured,  my  lord,  much  honoured, 
much  honoured !  [Exit  R.  with  BRIAN.] 
[All  through  this  scene,  from  the  outset  of  the 
quarrel,  SEANCHAN  has  kept  his  face  turned 
away,  or  hidden  in  his  cloak.  While 
the  CHAMBERLAIN  has  been  speaking,  the 
SOLDIER  and  the  MONK  have  come  out  of 
the  palace.  The  MONK  stands  on  top  of 
steps  at  one  side,  SOLDIER  a  little  down 
steps  at  the  other  side,  COURT  LADIES  seen 
at  opening  in  the  palace  curtain  behind 
SOLDIER.  CHAMBERLAIN  is  in  the  centre.] 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  361 

CHAMBERLAIN   [to  SEANCHAN].    Well,  you 

must  be  contented,  for  your  work 
Has  roused  the  common  sort  against  the  King, 
And  stolen  his  authority.    The  State 
Is  like  some  ancient,  orderly,  and  reverend 

house, 

Wherein  the  master  being  dead  of  a  sudden, 
The   servants   quarrel   where   they  have   a 

mind  to, 

And  pilfer  here  and  there. 
[Pause,  finding   that  SEANCHAN   does   not 

answer.] 

How  many  days 

Will  you  keep  up  this  quarrel  with  the  King, 
And  the  King's  nobles,  and  myself,  and  all, 
Who'd  gladly  be  your  friends,  if  you  would 

let  them  ?  [Going  near  to  MONK.] 


362          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

If  you  would  try,  you  might  persuade  him, 

father. 

I  cannot  make  him  answer  me,  and  yet 
If  fitting  hands  would  offer  him  the  food, 
He  might  accept  it. 

MONK.  Certainly  I  will  not. 

I've  made  too  many  homilies,  wherein 
The  wanton  imagination  of  the  poets 
Has  been  condemned,  to  be  his  flatterer. 
If  pride  and  disobedience  are  unpunished, 
Who  will  obey  ? 

CHAMBERLAIN    [going  to  other  side  towards 
SOLDIER].     If  you  would  speak  to  him, 
You  might  not  find  persuasion  difficult, 
With  all  the  devils  of  hunger  helping  you. 

SOLDIER.  I   will  not  interfere,   for  if  he 
starve 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  363 

For  being  obstinate  and  stiff  in  the  neck, 
'Tis  but  good  riddance. 

CHAMBERLAIN.  One  of  us  must  do  it. 

It  might  be,  if  you'd  reason  with  him,  ladies, 
He  would  eat  something,  for  I  have  a  notion 
That  if  he  brought  misfortune  on  the  King, 
Or  the  King's  house,  we'd  be  as  little  thought 

of 

As  summer  linen  when  the  winter's  come. 
FIRST  GIRL.   But  it  would  be  the  greater 

compliment 
If  Peter'd  do  it. 

SECOND   GIRL.     Reason  with  him,  Peter. 
Persuade  him  to  eat;    he's  such  a  bag  of 

bones ! 

SOLDIER.    I'll  never  trust  a  woman's  word 
again! 


364          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

There's  nobody  that  was  so  loud  against  him 
When  he  was  at  the  table;  now  the  wind's 

changed, 
And  you  that  could  not  bear  his  speech  or  his 

silence, 

Would  have  him  there  in  his  old  place  again ; 

I  do  believe  you  would,  but  I  won't  help  you. 

SECOND  GIRL.     Why  will  you  be  so  hard 

upon  us,  Peter  ? 
You  know  we  have  turned  the  common  sort 

against  us, 
And  he  looks  miserable. 

FIRST  GIRL.  We  cannot  dance, 

Because  no  harper  will  pluck  a  string  for  us. 
SECOND  GIRL.     I  cannot  sleep  with  think- 
ing of  his  face. 

FIRST  GIRL.     And  I  love  dancing  more 
than  anything. 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  365 

SECOND  GIRL.    Do  not  be  hard  on  us;  but 

yesterday 

A  woman  in  the  road  threw  stones  at  me. 
You  would  not  have  me  stoned  ? 

FIRST  GIRL.  May  I  not  dance  ? 

SOLDIER.  I   will   do  nothing.    You  have 

put  him  out, 
And  now  that  he  is  out  —  well,  leave  him  out. 

FIRST  GIRL.     Do  it  for  my  sake,  Peter. 

SECOND  GIRL.  And  for  mine. 

[Each  girl  as  she  speaks  takes  PETER'S  hand 
with  one  hand,  stroking  down  his  arm  with 
the  other.  While  SECOND  GIRL  is  strok- 
ing his  arm,  FIRST  GIRL  lets  go  and 
gives  him  the  dish.] 

SOLDIER.   Well,  well;  but  not  your  way. 
[To  SEANCHAN.]    Here's  meat  for  you. 


366          TEE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

It  has  been  carried  from  too  good  a  table 
For  men  like  you,  and  I  am  offering  it 
Because  these  women  have  made  a  fool  of  me. 

[A  pause.} 
You  mean  to  starve?    You  will  have  none 

of  it? 
I'll  leave  it  there,  where  you  can  sniff  the 

savour. 

Snuff  it,  old  hedgehog,  and  unroll  yourself ! 
But  if  I  were  the  King,  I'd  make  you  do  it 
With  wisps  of  lighted  straw. 

SEANCHAN.       You  have  rightly  named  me. 
I  lie  rolled  up  under  the  ragged  thorns 
That  are  upon  the  edge  of  those  great  waters 
Where  all  things  vanish  away,  and  I  have 

heard 
Murmurs  that  are  the  ending  of  all  sound. 


THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD  367 

I  am  out  of  life ;  I  am  rolled  up,  and  yet, 

Hedgehog  although  I  am,  I'll  not  unroll 

For  you,  King's  dog !    Go  to  the  King,  your 

master. 

Crouch  down  and  wag  your  tail,  for  it  may  be 
He  has  nothing  now    against    you,   and  I 
think 

[The  soldier  has  drawn  his  sword.] 

The  stripes  of  your  last  beating  are  all  healed. 

CHAMBERLAIN  [striking  up  sword].   Put  up 

your  sword,  sir ;  put  it  up,  I  say ! 
The  common  sort  would  tear  you  into  pieces 
If  you  but  touched  him. 

SOLDIER.   If  he's  to  be  flattered, 
Petted,  cajoled,  and  dandled  into  humour, 
We  might  as  well  have  left  him  at  the  table. 
[Goes  to  one  side,  sheathing  sword.} 


368  THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD 

SEANCHAN.   You    must    need    keep    your 

patience  yet  awhile, 

For  I  have  some  few  mouthfuls  of  sweet  air 
To  swallow  before  I  have  grown  to  be  as  civil 
As  any  other  dust. 

CHAMBERLAIN.     You  wrong  us,  Seanchan. 
There  is  none  here  but  holds  you  in  respect; 
And  if  you'd  only  eat  out  of  this  dish, 
The  King  would  show  how  much  he  honours 
you.  [Bouring  and  smiling.] 

Who  could  imagine  you'd  take  to  heart 
Being  put  from  the  high  table  ?    I  am  certain 
That  you,  if  you  will  only  think  it  over, 
Will  understand  that  it  is  men  of  law, 
Leaders  of  the  King's  armies,  and  the  like, 
That  should  sit  there. 

SEANCHAN.     Somebody  has  deceived  you, 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  369 

Or  maybe  it  was  your  own  eyes  that  lied, 
In  making  it  appear  that  I  was  driven 
From  the  King's  table.    You  have  driven 

away 

The  unages  of  them  that  weave  a  dance 
By  the  four  rivers  in  the  mountain  garden. 

CHAMBERLAIN.  You  mean  we  have  driven 

poetry  away. 

But  that's  not  altogether  true,  for  I, 
As  you  should  know,  have  written  poetry. 
And  often  when  the  table  has  been  cleared, 
And  candles  lighted,  the  King  calls  for  me, 
And  I  repeat  it  him.    My  poetry 
Is  not  to  be  compared  with  yours ;  but  still, 
Where  I  am  honoured,  poetry  is  honoured 
In  some  measure. 

SEANCHAN.          If  you  are  a  poet, 

VOL.    II.  2  B 


370  THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD 

Cry  out  that  the  King's  money  would  not 

buy, 

Nor  the  high  circle  consecrate  his  head, 
If  poets  had  never  christened  gold,  and  even 
The  moon's  poor  daughter,  that  most  whey- 
faced  metal, 

Precious;  and  cry  out  that  none  alive 
Would   ride   among   the   arrows  with   high 

heart, 

Or  scatter  with  an  open  hand,  had  not 
Our  heady  craft  commended  wasteful  virtues. 
And  when  that  story's  finished,  shake  your 

coat 

Where  little  jewels  gleam  on  it,  and  say, 
A   herdsman,    sitting   where   the   pigs   had 

trampled, 
Made  up  a  song  about  enchanted  kings, 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  371 

Who  were  so  finely  dressed,  one  fancied  them 
All  fiery,  and  women  by  the  churn 
And  children  by  the  hearth  caught  up  the  song 
And  murmured  it,  until  the  tailors  heard  it. 

CHAMBERLAIN.    If  you  would  but  eat  some- 
thing you'd  find  out 
That  you  have  had  these  thoughts  from  lack 

of  food 
For  hunger  makes  us  feverish. 

SEANCHAN  Cry  aloud 

That  when  we  are  driven  out  we  come  again 
Like  a  great  wind  that  runs  out  of  the  waste 
To  blow  the  tables  flat ;  and  thereupon 
Lie  down  upon  the  threshold  till  the  King 
Restore  to  us  the  ancient  right  of  the  poets. 

MONK.  You  cannot  shake  him.    I  will  to 
the  King, 


3T2  THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD 

And  offer  him  consolation  in  his  trouble, 
For  that  man  there  has  set  his  teeth  to  die. 
And  being  one  that  hates  obedience, 
Discipline,  and  orderliness  of  life, 
I  cannot  mourn  him. 
FIRST    GIRL.      'Twas  you  that  stirred  it 

up. 
You  stirred  it  up  that  you  might  spoil  our 

dancing. 
Why   shouldn't   we   have   dancing?    We're 

not  in  Lent. 

Yet  nobody  will  pipe  or  play  to  us; 
And  they  will  never  do  it  if  he  die. 
And  that  is  why  you  are  going. 
MONK.  What  folly's  this? 

FIRST  GIRL.  Well,  if  you  did  not  do  it, 

speak  to  him  — 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  373 

Use  your  authority;   make  him  obey  you. 
What  harm  is  there  in  dancing  ? 

MONK.  Hush!  begone! 

Go  to  the  fields  and  watch  the  hurley  players, 
Or  any  other  place  you  have  a  mind  to. 
This  is  not  woman's  work. 

FIRST  GIRL.  Come !  let's  away ! 

We  can  do  nothing  here. 

MONK.  The  pride  of  the  poets ! 
Dancing,  hurling,  the  country  full  of  noise, 
And  King  and  Church  neglected.    Seanchan, 
I'll  take  my  leave,  for  you  are  perishing 
Like  all  that  let  the  wanton  imagination 
Carry  them  where  it  will,  and  it's  not  likely 
I'll  look  upon  your  living  face  again. 

SEANCHAN.  Come  nearer,  nearer ! 

MONK.  Have  you  some  last  wish? 


874  THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD 

SEANCHAN.   Stoop  down,  for  I  would  whis- 
per it  in  your  ear. 

Has  that  wild  God  of  yours,  that  was  so  wild 
When  you'd  but  lately  taken  the  King's  pay, 
Grown  any  tamer?  He  gave  you  all  much 

trouble. 

MONK.  Let  go  my  habit ! 
SEANCHAN.  Have  you  persuaded  him 

To  chirp  between  two  dishes,  when  the  King 
Sits  down  to  table  ? 
MONK.  Let  go  my  habit,  sir ! 

[Crosses  to  centre  of  stage.} 
SEANCHAN.  And  maybe  he  has  learnt  to 

sing  quite  softly 

Because  loud  singing  would  disturb  the  King, 
Who  is  sitting  drowsily  among  his  friends 
After  the  table  has  been  cleared.    Not  yet ! 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  375 

[SEANCHAN  has  been  dragged  some  feet  cling- 
ing to  the  MONK'S  habit.] 
SEANCHAN.  You  did  not  think  that  hands 
so  full  of  hunger 

Could  hold  you  tightly.    They  are  not  civil 
yet. 

I'd  know  if  you  have  taught  him  to  eat 
bread 

From  the  King's  hand,  and  perch  upon  his 
finger. 

I  think  he  perches  on  the  King's  strong  hand. 

But  it  may  be  that  he  is  still  too  wild. 

You  must  not  weary  in  your  work;  a  king 

Is  often  weary,  and  he  needs  a  God 

To  be  a  comfort  to  him. 

[The  MONK  plucks  his  habit  away  and  goes 
into  palace.   SEANCHAN  holds  up  his  hand 


376          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

as  if  a  bird  perched  upon  it.    He  pretends 
to  stroke  the  bird.] 

A  little  God, 

With  comfortable  feathers,  and  bright  eyes. 
FIEST  GIRL.  There  will  be  no  more  dancing 

in  our  tune, 

For  nobody  will  play  the  harp  or  the  fiddle. 
Let  us  away,  for  we  cannot  amend  it, 
And  watch  the  hurley. 
SECOND   GIRL.      Hush!    he  is  looking  at 

us. 
SEANCHAN.  Yes,  yes,  go  to  the  hurley,  go 

to  the  hurley, 

Go  to  the  hurley !    Gather  up  your  skirts  - 
Run  quickly !    You  can  remember  many  love 

songs; 
I  know  it  by  the  light  that's  in  your  eyes  - 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  377 

But  you'll  forget  them.    You're  fair  to  look 

upon. 
Your    feet    delight    in    dancing,    and    your 

mouths 

In  the  slow  smiling  that  awakens  love. 
The  mothers  that  have  borne  you  mated 

rightly, 
For  they  had  little  ears  as  thirsty  as  your 

ears 
For  many   love   songs.    Go   to   the   young 

men. 

Are  not  the  ruddy  flesh  and  the  thin  flanks 
And  the  broad  shoulders  worthy  of  desire? 
Go   from  me!     Here  is   nothing   for  your 

eyes. 

But  it  is  I  that  am  singing  you  away  — 
Singing  you  to  the  young  men. 


378          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

[The  Two  YOUNG  PRINCESSES  come  out  of 
palace.  While  he  had  been  speaking,  the 
GIRLS  have  shrunk  back  holding  each  other's 
hands.] 

FIRST  GIRL.  Be  quiet ! 

Look  who  is  it  has  come  out  of  the  house. 
Princesses,  we  are  for  the  hurling  field. 
Will  you  come  too? 
FIRST   PRINCESS.  We  will  go  with  you, 

Aileen. 

But  we  must  have  some  words  with  Seanchan, 

For  we  have  come  to  make  him  eat  and  drink. 

CHAMBERLAIN.  I  will  hold  out  the  dish  and 

cup  for  him 

While  you  are  speaking  to  him  of  his  folly, 
If  you  desire  it,  Princess. 

[He  has  taken  dish  and  cup.] 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  379 

FIRST  PRINCESS.  No,  Finula 

Will  carry  him  the  dish  and  I  the  cup. 
We'll  offer  them  ourselves. 

[They  take  the  cup  and  dish.] 

FIRST  GIRL.  They  are  so  gracious; 

The  dear  little  Princesses  are  so  gracious. 

[PRINCESS  holds  out  her  hand  for  SEANCHAN 

to  kiss  it.    He  does  not  move.] 
Although  she  is  holding  out  her  hand  to  him, 
He  will  not  kiss  it. 

FIRST  PRINCESS.         My  father  bids  us  say 
That,  though  he  cannot  have  you  at  his  table, 
You  may  ask  any  other  thing  you  like 
And  he  will  give  it  you.     We  carry  you 
With  our  own  hands  a  dish  and  cup  of  wine. 

GIRL.   0,  look !   he  has  taken  it !    He  has 
taken  it ! 


380          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 
The  dear  Princesses !    I  have  always  said 
That  nobody  could  refuse  them  anything. 
[SEANCHAN  takes  the  cup  in  one  hand.     In 
the  other  he  holds  for  a  moment  the  hand 
of  the  PRINCESS.] 
SEANCHAN.   0  long,  soft  fingers  and  pale 

finger-tips, 

Well  worthy  to  be  laid  in  a  king's  hand ! 
0,  you  have  fair  white  hands,  for  it  is  cer- 
tain 

There  is  uncommon  whiteness  in  these  hands. 
But    there    is    something    comes    into    my 

mind, 

Princess.    A  little  while  before  your  birth, 
I  saw  your  mother  sitting  by  the  road 
In  a  high  chair ;  and  when  a  leper  passed, 
She  pointed  him  the  way  into  the  town. 


THE  SING'S   THRESHOLD  381 

He  lifted  up  his  hand  and  blessed  her  hand  — 
I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes.    Hold  out  your 

hands ; 

I  will  find  out  if  they  are  contaminated. 
For  it  has  come  into  my  thoughts  that  maybe 
The  King  has  sent  me  food  and  drink  by 

hands 
That  are  contaminated.    I  would  see  all  your 

hands. 
You've  eyes  of  dancers;   but  hold  out  your 

hands, 
For  it  may  be  there  are  none  sound  among 

you. 

[The  PRINCESSES  have  shrunk  back  in  terror.] 
FIRST  PRINCESS.  He  has  called  us  lepers. 

[SOLDIER  draws  sword.] 
CHAMBERLAIN.  He's  out  of  his  mind, 


382          THE  SING'S  THRESHOLD 

And  does  not  know  the  meaning  of  what  he 

said. 
SEANCHAN   [standing  up].     There  are  no 

sound    hands   among   you  —  no    sound 

hands. 

Away  with  you!  away  with  all  of  you! 
You  are  all  lepers !    There  is  leprosy 
Among  the  plates  and  dishes  that  you  have 

carried. 
And  wherefore  have  you  brought  me  leper's 

wine? 

[He  flings  the  contents  of  the  cup  in  their  faces.] 
There,  there !    I  have  given  it  to  you  again. 

And  now 

Begone,  or  I  will  give  my  curse  to  you. 
You   have   the    leper's    blessing,   but    you 

think 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  383 

Maybe   the    bread   will   something   lack   in 
savour 

Unless  you  mix  my  curse  into  the  dough. 
[They  go  out  to  R.,  all.    SEANCHAN  is  stag- 
gering in  the  middle  of  the  stage.] 

Where  did  I  say  the  leprosy  came  from  ? 

I  said  it  came  out  of  a  leper's  hand, 

[Enter  CRIPPLES.] 

And  that  he  walked  the  highway.    But  that's 
folly, 

For  he  was  walking  up  there  in  the  sky. 

And  there  he  is  even  now,  with  his  white 
hand 

Thrust   out   of   the   blue  air,  and   blessing 
them 

With  leprosy. 
CRIPPLE.        He's  pointing  at  the  moon 


384  THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD 

That's  coming  out  up  yonder,  and  he  calls  it 
Leprous,  because  the  daylight  whitens  it. 
SEANCHAN.   He's    holding    up    his    hand 

above  them  all  — 

King,  noblemen,  princesses  —  blessing  all. 
Who    could    imagine    he'd    have    so    much 

patience  ? 
CRIPPLE   [clutching  the  CRIPPLE  next  him]. 

Come  out  of  this ! 
OTHER  CRIPPLE  [pointing  to  food].     If  you 

don't  need  it,  sir, 

May  we  not  carry  some  of  it  away? 
SEANCHAN.  Who's    speaking?    Who    are 

you? 

CRIPPLE.  Come  out  of  this ! 
OTHER  CRIPPLE.   Have  pity  on  us,   that 
must  beg  our  bread 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  385 

From  table  to  table  throughout  the  entire 

world, 

And  yet  be  hungry. 
SEANCHAN  [intensely,  to  them].     But  why 

were  you  born  crooked? 
What    bad    poet  did    your  mothers  listen 

to 
That  you  were  born  so  crooked  ? 

CRIPPLE.  Come  away ! 

Maybe  he's  cursed  the  food,  and  it  might  kill 

us. 

OTHER  CRIPPLE.  Yes,  better  come  away. 

[They  go  out.} 
SEANCHAN  [staggering,  and  speaking  wearily]. 

He  has  great  strength 

And  great  patience  to  hold  his  right  hand 
there, 

VOL.  ii.  — 2c 


386  THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD 

Uplifted  and  not  wavering  about. 
He  is  much  stronger  than  I  am,  much  stronger. 
[Sinks  down  on  steps.     Enter  MAYOR  and 

FEDELM.] 
FEDELM    [her  finger   on   her   lips].       Say 

nothing !    I  will  get  him  out  of  this 
Before  I  have  said  a  word  of  food  and  drink  ; 
For  while  he  is  on  this  threshold  and  can 

hear, 

It  may  be,  the  voices  that  made  mock  of  him, 
He  would  not  listen.    I'd  be  alone  with  him. 
[MAYOR  goes  out.     FEDELM  goes  to  SEAN- 
CHAN  and  kneels  before  him.] 
Seanchan !  Seanchan ! 

[He  remains  looking  into  the  sky.] 
Can  you  not  hear  me,  Seanchan? 
It  is  myself. 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  387 

[He  looks  at  her,  dreamily  at  first,  then  takes 

her  hand.] 

SEANCHAN.       Is  this  your  hand,  Fedelm? 
I  have  been  looking  at  another  hand 
That  is  up  yonder. 

FEDELM.  I  have  come  for  you. 

SEANCHAN.   Fedelm,  I  did  not  know  that 

you  were  here. 
FEDELM.  And  can  you  not  remember  that 

I  promised 
That  I  would  come  and  take  you  home  with 

me 

When  I'd  the  harvest  in  ?    And  now  I've  come, 
And  you  must  come  away,  and  come  on  the 

instant. 

SEANCHAN.   Yes,  I  will  come.    But  is  the 
harvest  in  ? 


388  THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD 

This  air  has  got  a  summer  taste  in  it. 
FEDELM.  But  is  not  the  wild  middle  of  the 

summer 
A  better  time  to  marry?    Come  with  me 

now! 

SEANCHAN  [seizing  her  by  both  uvrists]. 
Who  taught  you  that?  For  it's  a  cer- 
tainty, 

Although  I  never  knew  it  till  last  night, 
That  marriage,  because  it  is  the  height  of 

life, 

Can  only  be  accomplished  to  the  full 
In  the  high  days  of  the  year.    I  lay  awake: 
There  had  come  a  frenzy  into  the  light  of  the 

stars, 

And  they  were  coming  nearer,  and  I  knew 
All  in  a  minute  they  were  about  to  marry 


TEE  KING'S    THRESHOLD  389 

Clods  out  upon  the  ploughlands,  to  beget 

A  mightier  race  than  any  that  has  been. 

But   some   that   are  within  there  made  a 
noise, 

And  frighted  them  away. 
FEDELM.  Come  with  me  now ! 

We  have  far  to  go,  and  daylight's  running 

out. 

SEANCHAN.  The  stars  had  come  so  near  me 
that  I  caught 

Their  singing.    It  was  praise  of  that  great 
race 

That  would  be  haughty,  mirthful,  and  white- 
bodied, 

With  a  high  head,  and  open  hand,  and  how, 

Laughing,  it  would  take  the  mastery  of  the 
world. 


390  THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD 

FEDELM.   But  you  will  tell  me  all  about 

their  songs 
When  we're  at  home.    You  have  need  of  rest 

and  care, 
And  I  can  give  them  you  when  we're  at 

home. 

And  therefore  let  us  hurry,  and  get  us  home. 
SEANCHAN.  It's  certain  that  there  is  some 

trouble  here, 

Although  it's  gone  out  of  my  memory. 
And  I  would  get  away  from  it.    Give  me 

your  help.  [Trying  to  rise.] 

But  why  are  not  my  pupils  here  to  help  me  ? 
Go,  call  my  pupils,  for  I  need  their  help. 
FEDELM.  Come  with  me  now,  and  I  will 

send  for  them, 
For  I  have  a  great  room  that's  full  of  beds 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  391 

I  can  make  ready;    and  there  is  a  smooth 
lawn, 

Where  they  can  play  at  hurley  and  sing 
poems 

Under  an  apple  tree. 
SEANCHAN.  I  know  that  place : 

An  apple  tree,  and  a  smooth  level  lawn 

Where  the  young  men  can  sway  then1  hurley 
sticks.  [Sings.] 

The  four  rivers  that  run  there, 
Through  well-mown  level  ground, 
Have  come  out  of  a  blessed  well 
That  is  all  bound  and  wound 
By  the  great  roots  of  an  apple, 
And  all  the  fowl  of  the  air 
Have  gathered  in  the  wide  branches 
And  keep  singing  there. 


392          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

[FEDELM,  troubled,  has  covered  her  eyes  with 

her  hands.] 
FEDELM.       No,  there  are  not  four  rivers 

and  those  rhymes 
Praise  Adam's  paradise. 

SEANCHAN.  I  can  remember  now, 
It's  out  of  a  poem  I  made  long  ago 
About  the  garden  in  the  east  of  the  world, 
And  how  spirits  in  the  images  of  birds 
Crowd  in  the  branches  of  old  Adam's  crab- 
tree. 
They  come  before  me  now,  and  dig  in  the 

fruit 

With  so  much  gluttony,  and  are  so  drunk 
With  that  harsh  wholesome  savour,  that  their 

feathers 
Are  clinging  one  to  another  with  the  juice. 


THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD  393 

But  you  would  lead  me  to  some  friendly  place, 
And  I  would  go  there  quickly. 
FEDELM  [helping  him  to  rise].    Come  with 

me. 
[He  walks  slowly,  supported  by  her,  till  he 

comes  to  table.] 
SEANCHAN.  But    why    am    I    so    weak? 

Have  I  been  ill? 
Sweetheart,  why  is  it  that  I  am  so  weak? 

[Sinks  on  to  seat.] 
FEDELM  [goes  to  table].    I'll  dip  this  piece 

of  bread  into  the  wine, 
For   that  will  make  you  stronger  for   the 

journey. 
SEANCHAN.  Yes,  give  me  bread  and  wine; 

that's  what  I  want, 
For  it  is  hunger  that  is  gnawing  me. 


394  THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

[He  takes  bread  from  FEDELM,  hesitates,  and 

then  thrusts  it  back  into  her  hand.] 
But,  no;  I  must  not  eat  it. 

FEDELM.    .  Eat,  Seanchan. 

For  if  you  do  not  eat  it,  you  will  die. 
SEANCHAN.  Why  did  you  give  me  food? 

Why  did  you  come  ? 
For  had  I  not  enough  to  fight  against 
Without  your  coming  ? 

FEDELM.   Eat  this  little  crust, 
Seanchan,  if  you  have  any  love  for  me. 
SEANCHAN.  I  must  not  eat  it  —  but  that's 

beyond  your  wit. 
Child !  child !   I  must  not  eat  it,  though  I 

die. 

FEDELM  [passionately].     You  do  not  know 
what  love  is;  for  if  you  loved, 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  395 

You  would  put  every  other  thought  away. 
But  you  have  never  loved  me. 
SEANCHAN  [seizing  her  by  the  wrist].     You, 

a  child, 

Who  have  but  seen  a  man  out  of  the  window, 
Tell  me  that  I  know  nothing  about  love, 
And  that  I  do  not  love  you !    Did  I  not  say 
There  was  a  frenzy  in  the  light  of  the  stars 
All  through  the  livelong  night,  and  that  the 

night 

Was  full  of  marriages  ?    But  that  fight's  over, 

And  all  that's  done  with,  and  I  have  to  die. 

FEDELM   [throwing  her  arms  about  him].  I 

will  not  be  put  from  you,  although  I 

think 

I  had  not  grudged  it  you  if  some  great  lady, 
If  the  King's  daughter,  had  set  out  your  bed. 


396  THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD 

I  will  not  give  you  up  to  death ;  no,  no ! 

And  are  not  these  white  arms  and  this  soft 
neck 

Better  than  the  brown  earth  ? 
SEANCHAN    [struggling   to   disengage  him- 
self].  Begone  from  me ! 

There  is  treachery  in  those  arms  and  in  that 
voice. 

They're  all  against  me.    Why  do  you  linger 
there? 

How  long  must  I  endure  the  sight  of  you  ? 
FEDELM.  0,  Seanchan !  Seanchan ! 
SEANCHAN  [rising].         Go  where  you  will, 

So  it  be  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind. 

I  cast  you  from  me  like  an  old  torn  cap, 

A  broken  shoe,  a  glove  without  a  finger, 

A  crooked  penny ;  whatever  is  most  worthless. 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  397 

FEDELM    [bursts    into    tears].    0,   do    not 

drive  me  from  you ! 
SEANCHAN  [takes  her  in  his  arms].    What 

did  I  say, 
My  dove  of  the  woods?    I  was  about   to 

curse  you. 

It  was  a  frenzy.    I'll  unsay  it  all. 
But  you  must  go  away. 

FEDELM.  Let  me  be  near  you. 

I  will  obey  like  any  married  wife. 
Let  me  but  lie  before  your  feet. 

SEANCHAN.       Come  nearer.      [Kisses  her.] 
If  I  had  eaten  when  you  bid  me,  sweetheart, 
The  kiss  of  multitudes  in  times  to  come 
Had  been  the  poorer. 

Enter  KING  from  house. 
KING  [to  FEDELM].         Has  he  eaten  yet? 


398          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

FEDELM.    No,  King,  and  will  not  till  you 

have  restored 
The  right  of  the  poets. 
KING   [coming  down  and   standing   before 
SEANCHAN].   Seanchan,  you  have  refused 
Everybody  that  I  have  sent,  and  now 
I  come  to  you  myself;  and  I  have  come 
To  bid  you  put  your  pride  as  far  away 
As  I  have  put  my  pride.    I  had  your  love 
Not  a  great  while  ago,  and  now  you  have 

planned 

To  put  a  voice  by  every  cottage  fire, 
And  in  the  night  when  no  one  sees  who  cries, 
To  cry  against  me  till  my  throne  has  crum- 
bled. 

And  yet  if  I  give  way  I  must  offend 
My  courtiers  and  my  nobles  till  they,  too, 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  399 

Strike  at  the  crown.    What  would  you  have 

of  me? 
SEANCHAN.   When  did  the  poets  promise 

safety,  King? 
KING.    Seanchan,  I   bring   you  bread  in 

my  own  hands, 

And  bid  you  eat  because  of  all  these  reasons, 
And   for   this    further   reason,   that   I    love 

you. 
[SEANCHAN     pushes     bread     away,     with 

FEDELM'S  hand.] 
You  have  refused  it,  Seanchan  ? 
SEANCHAN.  We  have  refused  it. 

KING.  I  have  been  patient,  though  I  am  a 

king, 

And  have  the  means  to  force  you.    But  that's 
ended, 


400          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

And  I  am  but  a  king,  and  you  a  subject. 
Nobles  and  courtiers,  bring  the  poets  hither. 
[Enter  COURTIERS  with  PUPILS,  who  have 

halters  round  their  necks.] 
For  you  can  have  your  way.    I  that  was 

man, 

With  a  man's  heart,  am  now  all  king  again, 
Remembering  that  the  seed  I  come  of,  though 
A  hundred  kings  have  sown  it  and  resown  it, 
Has  neither  trembled  nor  shrunk  backward 

yet 

Because  of  the  hard  business  of  a  king. 
Speak  to  your  master;  beg  your  life  of  him; 
Show  him  the  halter  that  is  round  your  necks. 
If  his  heart's  set  upon  it,  he  may  die; 
But  you  shall  all  die  with  him. 

[Goes  up  steps.] 


THE  KING'S   THRESHOLD  401 

Beg  your  lives ! 

Begin,  for  you  have  little  time  to  lose. 
Begin  it,  you  that  are  the  oldest  pupil. 
OLDEST  PUPIL.   Die,  Seanchan,  and  pro- 
claim the  right  of  the  poets. 
KING.  Silence!   you  are  as  crazy  as  your 

master. 
But  that  young  boy,  that  seems  the  youngest 

of  you, 
I'd  have  him  speak.    Kneel  down  before  him, 

boy; 
Hold  up  your  hands  to  him,  that  you  may 

pluck 

That  milky  coloured  neck  out  of  the  noose. 
YOUNGEST  PUPIL   [going    to   SEANCHAN]. 
Die,  Seanchan,  and  proclaim  the  right  of 
the  poets. 

VOL.  n.  — 2D 


402          THE  KING'S  THRESHOLD 

OLDEST  PUPIL.   Gather  the  halters  up  into 

your  hands 

And  drive  us  where  you  will,  for  in  all  things, 
But  in  our  Art,  we  are  obedient. 

[The  KING  comes  slowly  down  steps.] 
KING.    Kneel  down,  kneel  down;   he  has 

the  greater  power. 

There  is  no  power  but  has  its  root  in  his  — 
I  understand  it  now.     There  is  no  power 
But  his  that  can  withhold  the  crown  or  give 

it, 

Or  make  it  reverent  in  the  eyes  of  men, 
And  therefore  I  have  laid  it  in  his  hands, 
And  I  will  do  his  will. 

[He  puts  the  crown  into  SEANCHAN'S  hands.] 
SEANCHAN  [who  has  been  assisted  to  rise  by 
his  PUPILS].   0  crown  !  0  crown ! 


THE  KING'S  THBESHOLD  403 

It  is  but  right  the  hands  that  made  the  crown 

i 

In  the  old  time  should  give  it  where  they 

please. 

0  silver  trumpets !    Be  you  lifted  up, 
And  cry  to  the  great  race  that  is  to  come. 
Long-throated   swans,    amid   the   waves   of 

Time, 

Sing  loudly,  for  beyond  the  wall  of  the  world 
It  waits,  and  it  may  hear  and  come  to  us ! 

[A   trumpet  blast.] 


DEIKDKE 


MUSICIANS 

FERGUS,  an  old  man 

NAISI,  a  young  king 

DEIRDRE,  his  queen 

A  DARK-FACED  MESSENGER 

CONCHUBAR  (pronounced  Conochar),  the  old  King 

of  Uladh,  who  is  still  strong  and  vigorous 
DARK-FACED  EXECUTIONER 


DEIRDRE 

SCENE.  A  Guest-house  in  a  wood.  It  is  a 
rough  house  of  timber;  through  tJie  doors  and 
some  of  the  windows  one  can  see  the  great 
spaces  of  the  wood,  the  sky  dimming,  night 
dosing  in.  But  a  window  to  the  left  shows 
the  thick  leaves  of  a  coppice;  the  landscape 
suggests  silence  and  loneliness.  There  is  a 
door  to  right  and  left,  and  through  the  side 
windows  one  can  see  anybody  who  approaches 
either  door,  a  moment  before  he  enters.  In 
the  centre,  a  part  of  tJie  house  is  curtained 
off;  the  curtains  are  drawn.  There  are 
unlighted  torches  in  brackets  on  the  walls. 

407 


408  DEIRDBE 

There  is,  at  one  side,  a  small  table  with  a 
chessboard  and  chessmen  upon  it.  At  the 
other  side  of  the  room  there  is  a  brazier  with 
afire;  two  women,  with  musical  instruments 
"beside  them,  crouch  about  the  brazier;  they 
are  comely  women  of  about  forty.  Another 
woman,  who  carries  a  stringed  instrument, 
enters  hurriedly;  she  speaks,  at  first  standing 
in  tfie  doorway. 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.   I  have  a  story  right,  my 
wanderers, 

That  has  so  mixed  with  fable  in  our  songs, 

I 
That  all  seemed  fabulous.    We  are  come,  by 

chance, 
Into  King   Conchubar's  country,   and   this 

house 
Is  an  old  guest-house  built  for  travellers 


DEIRDBE  409 

From  the  seashore  to  Conchubar's  royal  house, 
And   there   are   certain   hills   among   these 

woods, 
And  there  Queen  Deirdre  grew. 

SECOND  MUSICIAN.        That  famous  queen 
Who  has  been  wandering  with  her  lover  Naisi, 
And   none   to   friend   but   lovers   and   wild 
hearts  ? 

FIRST  MUSICIAN  [going  nearer  to  the  brazier], 
Some  dozen  years  ago,  King  Conchubar  found 
A  house  upon  a  hillside  in  this  wood, 
And  there  a  comely  child  with  an  old  witch 
To  nurse  her,  and  there's  nobody  can  say 
If  she  were  human,  or  of  those  begot 
By  an  invisible  king  of  the  air  in  a  storm 
On  a  king's  daughter,  or  anything  at  all 
Of  who  she  was  or  why  she  was  hidden  there 


410  DEIBDBE 

But  that  she'd  too  much  beauty  for  good  luck. 

He  went  up  thither  daily,  till  at  last 

She  put  on  womanhood,  and  he  lost  peace, 

And  Deirdre's  tale  began.    The  King  was  old. 

A  month  or  so  before  the  marriage  day, 

A  young  man,  in  the  laughing  scorn  of  his 

youth, 

Naisi,  the  son  of  Usna,  climbed  up  there, 
And  having  wooed,  or,  as  some  say,  been 

wooed, 

Carried  her  off. 
SECOND  MUSICIAN.         The  tale  were  well 

enough 

Had  it  a  finish. 
FIRST  MUSICIAN.  Hush !    I  have  more  to 

tell; 
But  gather  close  that  I  may  whisper  it : 


DEIRDRE  411 

I  speak  of  terrible,  mysterious  ends  — 
The  secrets  of  a  king. 

SECOND  MUSICIAN.      There's  none  to  hear ! 
FIRST  MUSICIAN.   I  have  been  to  Conchti- 

bar's  house  and  followed  up 
A  crowd  of  servants  going  out  and  in 
With  loads  upon  their  heads :  embroideries 
To  hang  upon  the  walls,  or  new-mown  rushes 
To  strew  upon  the  floors,  and  came  at  length 
To  a  great  room. 
SECOND  MUSICIAN.  Be   silent ;    there   are 

steps ! 

[Enter  FERGUS,   an  old  man,  who  moves 
about    from    door    to    window    excitedly 
through  what  follows.] 
FERGUS.   I  thought  to  find  a  message  from 
the  king. 


412  DEIBDBE 

You  are  musicians  by  these  instruments, 
And    if    as    seems  —  for    you    are    comely 

women  — 
You  can  praise  love,  you'll  have  the  best  of 

luck, 

For  there'll  be  two,  before  the  night  is  in, 
That  bargained  for  their  love,  and  paid  for  it 
All  that  men  value.    You  have  but  the  time 
To  weigh  a  happy  music  with  a  sad ; 
To  find  what  is  most  pleasing  to  a  lover, 
Before  the  son  of  Usna  and  his  queen 
Have  passed  this  threshold. 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.      Deirdre  and  her  man ! 

FERGUS.   I  was  to  have  found  a  message  in 

this  house, 

And  ran  to  meet  it.     Is  there  no  messenger 
From  Conchubar  to  Fergus,  son  of  Rogh? 


DEIBDRE  413 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.  Are  Deirdre  and  her  lover 

tired  of  life  ? 
FERGUS.   You  are  not  of  this  country,  or 

you'd  know 

That  they  are  in  my  charge  and  all  forgiven. 
FIRST  MUSICIAN.  We  have  no  country  but 

the  roads  of  the  world. 
FERGUS.  Then  you  should  know  that  all 

things  change  in  the  world, 
And  hatred  turns  to  love  and  love  to  hate, 
And  even  kings  forgive. 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.  An  old  man's  love 

Who  casts  no  second  line,  is  hard  to  cure; 
His  jealousy  is  like  his  love. 

FERGUS.  And  that's  but  true. 

You  have  learned  something  in  your  wander- 
ings. 


414  DEIBDBE 

He  was  so  hard  to  cure,  that  the  whole  court, 

But  I  alone,  thought  it  impossible  ; 

Yet  after  I  had  urged  it  at  all  seasons, 

I  had  my  way,  and  all's  forgiven  now ; 

And  you  shall  speak  the  welcome  and  the  joy 

That  I  lack  tongue  for. 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.   Yet  old  men  are  jealous. 

FERGUS  [going  to  door],   I  am  Conchubar's 
near  friend,  and  that  weighed  somewhat, 
And  it  was  policy  to  pardon  them. 
The  need  of  some  young,  famous,  popular  man 
To  lead  the  troops,  the  murmur  of  the  crowd, 
And  his  own  natural  impulse,  urged  him  to  it. 
They    have    been    wandering    half-a-dozen 
years. 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.  And   yet    old    men    are 
jealous. 


DEIRDRE  415 

FERGUS   [coming   from    door].     Sing    the 

more  sweetly 

Because,  though  age  is  arid  as  a  bone, 
This  man  has  flowered.     I've  need  of  music, 

too; 

If  this  grey  head  would  suffer  no  reproach, 
I'd  dance  and  sing  — 

[Dark-faced  Men  with  strange,  barbaric  dress 
and  arms  begin  to  pass  by  the  doors  and 
windows.  TJiey  pass  one  by  one  and  in 
silence.] 

and  dance  till  the  hour  ran  out, 

Because  I  have  accomplished  this  good  deed. 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.   Look    there  —  there    at 

the  window,  those  dark  men, 
With     murderous     and     outlandish-looking 
arms  — 


•416  DEIRDRE 

They've  been  about  the  house  all  day. 

FERGUS  [looking  after  them].  What  are  you  ? 
Where  do  you  come  from,  who  is  it  sent  you 

here? 
FIRST  MUSICIAN.  They    will    not    answer 

you. 

FERGUS.  They  do  not  hear. 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.  Forgive  my  open  speech, 

but  to  these  eyes 
That  have  seen  many  lands,  they  are  such 

men 

As  kings  will  gather  for  a  murderous  task, 
That  neither  bribes,  commands,  nor  promises 
Can  bring  their  people  to. 

FERGUS.  And  that  is  why 

You  harped  upon  an  old  man's  jealousy. 
A  trifle  sets  you  quaking.    Conchubar's  fame 


DEIRDRE  417 

Brings  merchandise  on  every  wind  that  blows. 
They  may  have  brought  him  Libyan  dragon- 
skin, 

Or  the  ivory  of  the  fierce  unicorn. 
FIRST  MUSICIAN.   If  these  be  merchants,  I 

have  seen  the  goods 

They  have  brought  to  Conchubar,  and  under- 
stood 
His  murderous  purpose. 

FERGUS.  Murderous,  you  say  ? 

Why,  what  new  gossip  of  the  roads  is  this? 
But  I'll  not  hear. 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.        It  may  be  life  or  death. 
There  is  a  room  in  Conchubar's  house,  and 

there  — 

FERGUS.  Be  silent,  or  I'll  drive  you  from 
the  door. 

VOL.   II. 2E 


418  DEIRDRE 

There's  many  a  one  that  would  do  more  than 

that, 

And  make  it  prison,  or  death,  or  banishment 
To  slander  the  high  King. 

[Suddenly  restraining  himself  and  speaking 

gently.] 

He  is  my  friend ; 

I  have  his  oath,  and  I  am  well  content. 
I  have  known  his  mind  as  if  it  were  my  own 
These  many  years,  and  there  is  none  alive 
Shall  buzz  against  him,  and  I  there  to  stop  it. 
I   know   myself,   and   him,   and   your   wild 

thought 

Fed  on  extravagant  poetry,  and  lit 
By  such  a  dazzle  of  old  fabulous  tales 
That  common  things  are  lost,  and  all  that's 

strange 


DEIRDBE  419 

Is  true  because  'twere  pity  if  it  were  not. 

[Going  to  the  door  again.] 
Quick  !   quick !   your  instruments  !   they  are 

coming  now. 

I  hear  the  hoofs  a-clatter.    Begin  that  song  ; 
But  what  is  it  to  be  ?    I'd  have  them  hear 
A  music  foaming  up  out  of  the  house 
Like  wine  out  of  a  cup.    Come  now,  a  verse 
Of  some  old  time  not  worth  remembering, 
And  all  the  lovelier  because  a  bubble. 
Begin,  begin,  of  some  old  king  and  queen, 
Of  Ludgaidh  Redstripe  or  another;   no,  not 

him, 

He  and  his  lady  perished  wretchedly. 
FIRST  MUSICIAN  [singing]. 

"Why  is  it,"  Queen  Edain  said, 
"  If  I  do  but  climb  the  stair  "  . 


420  DEIEDEE 

FERGUS.  Ah!    that  is  better.  .  .  .    They 

are  alighted  now. 

Shake  all  your  cockscombs,  children;   these 
are  lovers. 

[FERGUS  goes  out.] 
FIRST  MUSICIAN. 

"  Why  is  it,"  Queen  Edain  said, 

"  If  I  do  but  climb  the  stair 
To  the  tower  overhead, 

When  the  winds  are  calling  there, 
Or  the  gannets  calling  out, 

In  waste  places  of  the  sky, 
There's  so  much  to  think  about, 

That  I  cry,  that  I  cry?" 
SECOND  MUSICIAN. 

But  her  goodman  answered  her : 
Vir  "  Love  would  be  a  thing  of  naught 


DEIBDRE  421 

Had  not  all  his  limbs  a  stir 

Born  out  of  immoderate  thought ; 
Were  he  anything  by  half, 

Were  his  measure  running  dry. 
Lovers,  if  they  may  not  laugh, 

Have  to  cry,  have  to  cry." 
[DEIRDRE,   NAISI,  and  FERGUS  have  been 
seen  for  a  moment  through  the  windows, 
but  now  they  have  entered.] 
THE  THREE  MUSICIANS  [together]. 
But  is  Edain  worth  a  song 

Now  the  hunt  begins  anew  ? 
Praise  the  beautiful  and  strong ; 

Praise  the  redness  of  the  yew; 
Praise  the  blossoming  apple-stem. 

But  our  silence  had  been  wise. 
What  is  all  our  praise  to  them 

That  have  one  another's  eyes  ? 


422  DEIRDBE 

DEIRDRE.   Silence   your   music,   though   I 

thank  you  for  it ; 

But  the  wind's  blown  upon  my  hair,  and  I 
Must  set  the  jewels  on  my  neck  and  head 
For  one  that's  coming. 

NAISI.  Your  colour  has  all  gone 

As  'twere  with  fear,  and  there's  no  cause  for 

that. 
DEIRDRE.  These  women  have  the  raddle 

that  they  use 

To  make  them  brave  and  confident,  although 
Dread,  toil,  or  cold  may  chill  the  blood  o' 

their  cheeks. 
You'll  help  me,  women.     It  is  my  husband's 

will 

I  show  my  trust  in  one,  that  may  be  here 
Before  the  mind  can  call  the  colour  up. 


DEIRDBE  423 

My  husband  took  these  rubies  from  a  king 
Of  Surracha  that  was  so  murderous 
He  seemed  all  glittering  dragon.     Now  wear- 
ing them 

Myself  wars  on  myself,  for  I  myself  — 
That  do  my  husband's  will,  yet  fear  to  do  it  — 
Grow  dragonish  to  myself. 

[The    Women    have     gathered    about    her. 
NAISI  has  stood  looking  at  her,  but  FERGUS 
brings  him  to  the  chesstable.] 
FERGUS.  We'll  play  at  chess 

Till  the  king  comes.    It  is  but  natural 
That  she  should  fear  him,  for  her  house  has 

been 

The  hole  of  the  badger  and  the  den  of  the  fox. 
NAISI.   If  I  were  childish  and  had  faith  in 
omens, 


424  DEIRDEE 

I'd  rather  not  have  lit  on  that  old  chessboard 
At  my  home-coming. 

FERGUS.  There's  a  tale  about  it  — 

It  has  been  lying  there  these  many  years  — 
Some  wild  old  sorrowful  tale. 

NAISI.  It  is  the  board 

Where  Lughaidh  Redstripe  and  that  wife  of 

his, 

Who  had  a  seaman's  body  half  the  year, 
Played  at  the  chess  upon  the  night  they  died. 
FERGUS.   I  can  remember  now,  a  tale  of 

treachery, 

A  broken  promise  and  a  journey's  end  — 
But  it  were  best  forgot. 

[DEIRDRE  has  been  standing  with  the  Women 
about  her.  They  have  been  helping  her  to 
put  on  her  jewels  and  to  put  the  pigment  on 


DEIRDBE  425 

her  cheeks  and  arrange  her  hair.    She  has 
gradually  grown  attentive  to  what  FERGUS 
is  saying.} 
NAISI.  If  the  tale's  true, 

When  it  was  plain  that  they  had  been  be- 
trayed, 

They  moved  the  men  and  waited  for  the  end 

As  it  were  bedtime,  and  had  so  quiet  minds 

They  hardly  winked  their  eyes  when  the  sword 

flashed. 

FERGUS.  She  never  could  have  played  so, 
being  a  woman, 

If  she  had  not  the  cold  sea's  blood  in  her. 
DEIRDRE.   I    have    heard    the   ever-living 
warn  mankind 

By  changing  clouds  and  casual  accidents, 

Or  what  seem  so. 


426  DEIRDEE 

NAISI.  It  would  but  ill  become  us, 

Now  that  King  Conchubar  has  pledged  his 

word, 
Should  we  be  startled  by  a  cloud  or  a  shadow. 

DEIRDKE.  There's  none  to  welcome  us. 

NAISI.  Being  his  guest, 

Words  that  would  wrong  him  can  but  wrong 
ourselves. 

DEIRDRE.  An  empty  house  upon  the  jour- 
ney's end ! 

Is  that  the  way  a  king  that  means  no  mischief 
Honours  a  guest  ? 

FERGUS.  He  is  but  making  ready 

A  welcome  in  his  house,  arranging  where 
The  moorhen  and  the  mallard  go,  and  where 
The  speckled  heathcock  on  a  golden  dish. 

DEIRDRE.   Had  he  no  messenger  ? 


DEIRDRE  427 

NAISI.  Such  words  and  fears 

Wrong  this  old  man  who's  pledged  his  word 

to  us. 

You  speak  as  women  do  that  sit  alone 
Marking  among  the  ashes  with  a  stick 
Till  they  are  terrified.  —  You  are  a  queen : 
You  should  have  too  calm  thought  to  start  at 

shadows. 
[To  FERGUS.]  Come,  let  us  look  if  there's  a 

messenger 

From  Conchubar.    We  cannot  see  from  this 
Because  we  are  blinded  by  the  leaves  and 

twigs, 

But  it  may  be  the  wood  will  thin  again. 
It  is  but  kind  that  when  the  lips  we  love 
Speak  words  that  are  unfitting  for  kings'  ears 
Our  ears  be  deaf. 


428  DEIBDBE 

FERGUS.  But  now  I  had  to  threaten 

These  wanderers  because  they  would  have 

weighed 

Some  crazy  phantasy  of  their  own  brain 
Or  gossip  of  the  road  with  Conchubar's  word. 
If  I  had  thought  so  little  of  mankind, 
I  never  could  have  moved  him  to  this  pardon. 
I  have  believed  the  best  of  every  man, 
And  find  that  to  believe  it  is  enough 
To  make  a  bad  man  show  him  at  his  best, 
Or  even  a  good  man  swing  his  lantern  higher. 
[NAISI  and  FERGUS  go  out.     The  last  words 
are  spoken  as  they  go  through  the  door. 
One  can  see  them  through  part  of  what 
follows,   either  through  door  or  window. 
They  move  about  talking,  or  looking  along 
the  road  towards  CONCHUBAR'S  house.] 


DEIEDEE  429 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.   If  anything  lies  heavy  on 

your  heart, 

Speak  freely  of  it,  knowing  it  is  certain 
That  you  will  never  see  my  face  again. 
DEIRDRE.   You've  been  in  love  ? 
FIRST  MUSICIAN.   If  you  would  speak  of 

love, 

Speak  freely.    There  is  nothing  in  the  world 
That  has  been  friendly  to  us  but  the  kisses 
That  were  upon  our  lips,  and  when  we  are  old 
Their  memory  will  be  all  the  life  we  have. 
DEERDRE.     There  was  a  man   that  loved 
me.    „ 

He  was  old ; 

I  could  not  love  him.  Now  I  can  but  fear. 
He  has  made  promises,  and  brought  me  home ; 
But  though  I  turn  it  over  in  my  thoughts^ 


430  DEIRDRE 

I  cannot  tell  if  they  are  sound  and  wholesome, 
Or  hackles  on  the  hook. 
FIRST  MUSICIAN.   I  have  heard  he  loved 

you, 

As  some  old  miser  loves  the  dragon-stone 
He  hides  among  the  cobwebs  near  the  roof. 
DEIRDRE.   You  mean  that  when  a  man  who 

has  loved  like  that 

Is  after  crossed,  love  drowns,  in  its  own  flood, 
And  that  love  drowned  and  floating  is  but 

hate; 

And  that  a  king  who  hates,  sleeps  ill  at  night, 
Till  he  has  killed;  and  that,  though  the  day 

laughs, 
We  shall  be  dead  at  cock-crow. 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.  You  have  not  my  thought. 
When  I  lost  one  I  loved  distractedly, 


DEIRDRE  431 

I  blamed  my  crafty  rival  and  not  him, 
And  fancied  till  my  passion  had  run  out, 
That  could  I  carry  him  away  with  me, 
And  tell  him  all  my  love,  I'd  keep  him  yet. 

DEIRDRE.   Ah  !  now  I  catch  your  meaning, 

that  this  king 
Will  murder  Naisi,  and  keep  me  alive. 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.   Tis  you  that  put  that 

meaning  upon  words 
Spoken  at  random. 

DEIRDRE.  Wanderers  like  you, 

Who  have  their  wit  alone  to  keep  their  lives, 
Speak  nothing  that  is  bitter  to  the  ear 
At  random ;  if  they  hint  at  it  at  all 
Their  eyes  and   ears    have   gathered  it  so 

lately 
That  it  is  crying  out  in  them  for  speech. 


432  DEIRDBE 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.  We   have   little   that   is 
certain. 

DEIRDRE.        Certain  or  not, 
Speak  it  out  quickly,  I  beseech  you  to  it ; 
I  never  have  met  any  of  your  kind, 
But  that  I  gave  them  money,  food  and  fire. 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.  There  are  strange,  mir- 
acle-working, wicked  stones, 
Men  tear  out  of  the  heart  and  the  hot  brain 
Of  Libyan  dragons. 

DEIRDRE.  The  hot  Istain  stone, 

And  the  cold  stone  of  Fanes,  that  have  power 
To  stir  even  those  at  enmity  to  love. 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.  They  have  so  great  an 

influence,  if  but  sewn 
In  the  embroideries  that  curtain  in 
The  bridal  bed. 


DEIEDEE  433 

DEIRDRE.  0  Mover  of  the  stars 

That  made  this  delicate  house  of  ivory, 
And  made  my  soul  its  mistress,  keep  it  safe ! 

FIRST  MUSICIAN.   I  have  seen  a  bridal  bed, 

so  curtained  in, 

So  decked  for  miracle  in  Conchubar's  house, 
And  learned  that  a  bride's  coming. 

DEIRDRE.  And  I  the  bride  ? 

Here  is  worse  treachery  than  the  seamew 

suffered, 

For  she  but  died  and  mixed  into  the  dust 
Of  her  dear  comrade,  but  I  am  to  live 
And  lie  in  the  one  bed  with  him  I  hate. 
Where  is  Naisi  ?    I  was  not  alone  like  this 
When  Conchubar  first  chose  me  for  his  wife; 
I  cried  in  sleeping  or  waking  and  he  came, 
But  now  there  is  worse  need. 

VOL.   II. 2F 


434  DEIRDRE 

NAISI  [entering  with  FERGUS].    Why  have 

you  called  ? 

I  was  but  standing  there,  without  the  door. 
DEIRDRE.   I  have  heard  terrible  mysterious 

things, 

Magical  horrors  and  the  spells  of  wizards. 
FERGUS.  Why,    that's    no   swonder.    You 

have  been  listening 
To  singers  of  the  roads  that  gather  up 
The  stories  of  the  world. 

DEIRDRE.  But  I  have  one 

To  make  the  stories  of  the  world  but  nothing. 

NAISI.  Be  silent  if  it  is  against  the  king 
Whose  guest  you  are. 

FERGUS.  No,  let  her  speak  it  out, 

I  know  the  High  King's  heart  as  it  were  my 
own, 


DEIEDEE  435 

And  can  refute  a  slander,  but  already 

I  have  warned  these  women  that  it  may  be 

death. 
NAISI.  I  will  not  weigh  the  gossip  of  the 

roads 
With  the  king's  word.    I  ask  you  pardon  for 

her: 

She  has  the  heart  of  the  wild  birds  that  fear 
The  net  of  the  fowler  or  the  wicker  cage. 
DEIRDRE.  Am  I  to  see  the  fowler  and  the 

cage 
And  speak  no  word  at  all  ? 

NAISI.  You  would  have  known, 

Had  they  not  bred  you  in  that  mountainous 

place, 

That  when  we  give  a  word  and  take  a  word 
Sorrow  is  put  away,  past  wrong  forgotten. 


436  DEIRDRE 

DEIRDRE.  Though  death  may  come  of  it? 

NAISI.  Though  death  may  come. 

FERGUS.  To  those  that  slander  kings. 

DEIRDRE.  Then  I  will  say 

What  it  were  best  to  carry  to  the  grave. 
Look  at  my  face  where  the  leaf  raddled  it 
And  at  these  rubies  on  my  hair  and  breast. 
It  was  for  him,  to  stir  him  to  desire, 
I  put  on  beauty ;  yes,  for  Conchubar. 

NAISI.  What  frenzy  put  these  words  into 
your  mouth  ? 

DEIRDRE.  No  frenzy,  for  what  need  is  there 

for  frenzy 
To  change  what  shifts  with  every  change  of 

the  wind, 

Or  else  there  is  no  truth  in  men's  old  sayings  ? 
Was  I  not  born  a  woman  ? 


DEIRDRE  437 

NAISI.  You're  mocking  me. 

DEIRDRE.  And  is  there  mockery  in  this 

face  and  eyes, 

Or  in  this  body,  in  these  limbs  that  brought 
So  many  mischiefs  ?    Look  at  me  and  say 
If  that  that  shakes  my  limbs  be  mockery. 

NAISI.  What  woman  is  there  that  a  man 

can  trust 

But  at  the  moment  when  he  kisses  her 
At  the  first  midnight  ? 

DEIRDRE.  Were  it  not  most  strange 

That  women  should  put  evil  in  men's  hearts 
And  lack  it  in  themselves  ? 

NAISI.  Come,  I  command  it : 

We'll  to  the  horses  and  take  ship  again. 

FERGUS.   Fool,  she  but  seeks  to  rouse  your 
jealousy 


438  DE1RDRE 

With  crafty  words. 
DEIRDRE.  Were  we  not  born  to 

wander  ? 
These  jewels  have  been  reaped  by  the  innocent 

sword 

Upon  a  mountain,  and  a  mountain  bred  me; 
But  who  can  tell  what  change  can  come  to 

love 
Among  the  valleys?    I  speak  no  falsehood 

now. 

Away  to  windy  summits,  and  there  mock 
The  night-jar  and  the  valley-keeping  bird ! 
FERGUS.  Men  blamed  you  that  you  stirred 

a  quarrel  up 
That  has  brought  death  to  many.    I  have 

poured 
Water  upon  the  fire,  but  if  you  fly 


DEIBDRE  439 

A  second  time,  the  house  is  in  a  blaze, 

And  all   the   screaming   household  will  but 

blame 

The  savage  heart  of  beauty  for  it  all ; 
And  Naisi,  that  has  helped  to  tar  the  wisp, 
Shall  be  a  hunted  outlaw  all  his  days. 
DEIRDRE.   I  will  be  blamed  no  more. 

There's  but  one  way : 
I'll  spoil  this  beauty  that  brought  misery 
And  houseless  wandering  on  the  man  I  loved. 
These  wanderers  will  show  me  how  to  do  it; 
To  clip  this  hair  to  baldness,  blacken  my  skin 
With  walnut  juice,  and  tear  my  face  with 

briars. 

Oh,  that  the  creatures  of  the  woods  had  torn 
My  body  with  their  claws  ! 
FERGUS.  What,  wilder  yet ! 


440  VEIRDRE 

DEIRDRE  [to  NAISI].  Whatever  were  to  hap- 
pen to  my  face 

I'd  be  myself,  and  there's  not  any  way 
But  this  to  bring  all  trouble  to  an  end. 
NAISI.  What  have  you  told  to  put  such 

frenzy  in  her? 
FERGUS.  Yes,  speak  it  out. 
NAISI.  I  give  you  my  protection  ; 

Are  you  afraid  to  speak  ?    Does  the  king  love 

her? 
Will  no  one  answer  ? 

DEIRDRE.  Tell  out  all  the  plot, 

The  plan,  the  network,  all  the  treachery ; 
Tell  of  the  bridal  chamber  and  the  bed, 
The  magical  stones,  the  wizard's  handiwork. 
NAISI.  Ah!   now  I  understand  why  it  is 
you  fear 


DEIRDRE  441 

To  waken  death  with  words.    Take  care  of 

Deirdre : 

She  must  not  fall  alive  into  his  hands, 
Whatever  the  cost. 

DEIRDRE.      Where  would  you  go  to,  Naisi  ? 
NAISI.   I  go  to  drag  the  truth  from  Conchu- 

bar, 

Before  his  people,  in  the  face  of  his  army, 
And  if  it  be  as  black  as  you  have  made  it, 
To  kill  him  there. 

DEIRDRE.  You  never  would  return ; 

I'll  never  look  upon  your  face  again. 
Oh,  keep  him,  Fergus;  do  not  let  him  go, 
But  hold  him  from  it.    You  are  both  wise 

and  kind. 

NAISI.  When  you  were  all  but  Conchu- 
bar's  wife,  I  took  you ; 


442  DEIRDRE 

He  tried  to  kill  me,  and  he  would  have  done  it 

If  I  had  been  so  near  as  I  am  now. 

And  now  that  you  are  mine,  he  has  planned 

to  take  you. 

Should  I  be  less  than  Conchubar,  being  a  man  ? 
[Dark-faced  MESSENGER  comes  into  the 

house  unnoticed.] 

MESSENGER.   Supper  is  on  the  table,  Con- 
chubar 
Is  waiting  for  his  guests. 

FERGUS.  All's  well,  again ! 

All's  well !  all's  well !    You  cried  your  doubts 

so  loud 
That  I  had  almost  doubted. 

NAISI.  I  would  have  killed  him, 

And  he  the  while  but  busy  in  his  house 
For  the  more  welcome. 


DEIRDRE  443 

DEIRDRE.          The  message  is  not  finished. 
FERGUS.  Come   quickly.    Conchubar    will 

laugh,  that  I  — 

Although  I  held  out  boldly  in  my  speech  — 
That  I,  even  I  - 

DEIRDRE.  Wait,  wait !   He  is  not  done. 
MESSENGER.   Deirdre,   and  Fergus  son  of 

Rogh,  are  summoned ; 

But  not  the  traitor  that  bore  off  the  queen. 
It  is  enough  that  the  king  pardon  her, 
And  call  her  to  his  table  and  his  bed. 
NAISI.   So  then,  it's  treachery. 
FERGUS.  I'll  not  believe  it. 

NAISI.  Tell  Conchubar  to  meet  me  in  some 

place 

Where  none  can  come  between  us  but  our 
swords, 


444  DEIRDEE 

For  I  have  found  no  truth  on  any  tongue 
That's  not  of  iron. 

MESSENGER.  I  am  Conchubar's  man ; 

I  take  no  message  but  he  bids  me  do  it. 

[He  goes.] 

NAISI.  I  bid  you.    I  will  have  you  swear 
to  take  it. 

[He  follows  MESSENGER  out.] 
FERGUS.  Some  enemy  has  paid  him  well 

for  this. 
I  know  King  Conchubar's  mind  as  it  were  my 

own; 

I'll  learn  the  truth  from  him. 
[He  is  about  to  follow  NAISI,  but  DEIRDRB 

stops  him.] 

DEIRDRE.  No,  no,  old  man, 

You  thought  the  best,  and  the  worst  came  of  it ; 


DEIRDEE  445 

We  listened  to  the  counsel  of  the  wise, 

And  so  turned  fools.     But  ride  and  bring  your 
friends. 

Go,    and   go   quickly.    Conchubar   has   not 
seen  me ; 

It  may  be  that  his  passion  is  asleep, 

And  that  we  may  escape. 
FERGUS.  But  I'll  go  first, 

And  follow  up  that  Libyan  heel,  and  send 

Such   words    to    Conchubar,   that    he    may 
know 

At  how  great  peril  he  lays  hands  upon  you. 

[NAisi  enters.} 

NAISI.  The  Libyan,  knowing  that  a  ser- 
vant's life 

Is  safe  from  hands  like  mine,  but  turned  and 
mocked. 


446  DEIRDEE 

FERGUS.   I'll  call  my  friends,  and  call  the 

reaping-hooks, 

And  carry  you  in  safety  to  the  ships. 
My  name  has  still  some  power.     I  will  protect, 
Or,  if  that  is  impossible,  revenge.     [Goes  out 

by  other  door.] 

NAISI  [who  is  calm  like  a  man  who  has 
passed  beyond  life].    The  crib  has  fallen 
and  the  birds  are  in  it; 
There  is  not  one  of  the  great  oaks  about  us 
But  shades  a  hundred  men. 

DEIRDRE.  Let's  out  and  die, 

Or  break  away,  if  the  chance  favour  us. 
NAISI.  They  would  but  drag  you  from  me, 

stained  with  blood. 

Their  barbarous  weapons  would  but  mar  that 
beauty, 


DEIRDRE  447 

And  I  would  have  you  die  as  a  queen  should  — 
In  a  death  chamber.  You  are  in  my  charge. 
We  will  wait  here,  and  when  they  come  upon 

us, 
I'll  hold  them  from  the  doors,   and  when 

that's  over, 

Give  you  a  cleanly  death  with  this  grey  edge. 
DEIRDRE.   I  will  stay  here ;  but  you  go  out 

and  fight. 

Our  way  of  life  has  brought  no  friends  to  us, 
And  if  we  do  not  buy  them  leaving  it, 
We  shall  be  ever  friendless. 

NAISI.  What  do  they  say  ? 

That  Lugaidh  Redstripe  and  that  wife  of  his 
Sat  at  this  chessboard,  waiting  for  their  end. 
They  knew  that  there  was  nothing  that  could 

save  them, 


448  DEIRDRE 

And  so  played  chess  as  they  had  any  night 
For  years,  and  waited  for  the  stroke  of  sword, 
I  never  heard  a  death  so  out  of  reach 
Of  common  hearts,  a  high  and  comely  end. 
What  need  have  I,  that  gave  up  all  for  love, 
To  die  like  an  old  king  out  of  a  fable, 
Fighting  and  passionate  ?    What  need  is  there 
For  all  that  ostentation  at  my  setting  ? 
I  have  loved  truly  and  betrayed  no  man. 
I  need  no  lightning  at  the  end,  no  beating 
In  a  vain  fury  at  the  cage's  door. 
[To  MUSICIANS.]  Had  you  been  here  when 

that  man  and  his  queen 
Played  at  so  high  a  game,  could  you  have 

found 

An  ancient  poem  for  the  praise  of  it  ? 
It  should  have  set  out  plainly  that  those  two, 


DEIBDEE  449 

Because  no  man  and  woman  have  loved 
better, 

Might  sit  on  there  contentedly,  and  weigh 

The  joy  comes  after.  I  have  heard  the  sea- 
mew 

Sat  there,  with  all  the  colour  in  her  cheeks, 

As  though  she'd  say :  "  There's  nothing  hap- 
pening 

But  that  a  king  and  queen  are  playing  chess." 
DEIRDRE.  He's  in  the  right,  though  I  have 
not  been  born 

Of  the  cold,  haughty  waves,  my  veins  being 
hot. 

And  though  I  have  loved  better  than  that 
queen, 

I'll  have  as  quiet  fingers  on  the  board. 

Oh,  singing  women,  set  it  down  in  a  book 

VOL.  II. 2G 


450  DEIBDBE 

That  love  is  all  we  need,  even  though  it  is 
But  the  last  drops  we  gather  up  like  this ; 
And  though  the  drops  are  all  we  have  known 

of  life,  — 
For  we  have  been  most  friendless,  —  praise  us 

for  it 
And  praise  the  double  sunset,  for  naught's 

lacking, 

But  a  good  end  to  the  long,  cloudy  day. 
NAISI.   Light  torches  there  and  drive  the 

shadows  out. 
For  day's  grey  end  comes  up. 

[A  MUSICIAN  lights  a  torch  in  the  fire  and 

then  crosses  before  tJie  chess-players,  and 

slowly  lights  the  torches  in  the  sconces. 

The  light  is  almost  gone  from  the  wood,  but 

there  is  a  clear  evening  light  in  the  sky, 


DEIBDEE  451 

increasing  the  sense  of  solitude  and  lone- 
liness. 

DEIRDRE.  Make  no  sad  music. 

What  is  it  but  a  king  and  queen  at  chess  ? 
They  need  a  music  that  can  mix  itself 
Into  imagination,  but  not  break 
The  steady  thinking  that  the  hard  game  needs. 
[During  the  chess,  the  MUSICIANS  sing  this 
song.] 

Love  is  an  immoderate  thing 
And  can  never  be  content, 
Till  it  dip  an  ageing  wing, 

Where  some  laughing  element 
Leaps  and  Time's  old  lanthorn  dims. 

What's  the  merit  in  love-play, 
In  the  tumult  of  the  limbs 
That  dies  out  before  'tis  day, 


452  DEIRDRE 

Heart  on  heart,  or  mouth  on  mouth, 

All  that  mingling  of  our  breath, 
When  love  longing  is  but  drouth 

For  the  things  come  after  death  ? 
[During  the  last  verses  DEIRDRE  rises  from 

the  board  and  kneels  at  NAISI'S /ee£.] 
DEIRDRE.   I  cannot  go  on  playing  like  that 

woman 
That  had  but  the  cold  blood  of  the  sea  in  her 

veins. 
NAISI.   It  is  your  move.    Take  up  your 

man  again. 
DEIRDRE.   Do    you    remember    that    first 

night  in  the  woods 

We  lay  all  night  on  leaves,  and  looking  up, 
When  the  first  grey  of  the  dawn  awoke  the 
birds, 


DEIRDEE  453 

Saw  leaves  above  us?    You  thought  that  I 

still  slept, 

And  bending  down  to  kiss  me  on  the  eyes, 
Found  they  were  open.    Bend  and  kiss  me 

now, 

For  it  may  be  the  last  before  our  death. 
And  when  that's  over,  we'll  be  different ; 
Imperishable  things,  a  cloud  or  a  fire. 
And  I  know  nothing  but  this  body,  nothing 
But  that  old  vehement,  bewildering  kiss. 

[CoNCHUBAR  comes  to  the  door.] 
MUSICIAN.  Children,  beware ! 
NAISI  [laughing].  He   has   taken   up   my 

challenge ; 

Whether  I  am  a  ghost  or  living  man 
When  day  has  broken,  I'll  forget  the  rest, 
And  say  that  there  is  kingly  stuff  in  him. 


454  DEIRDBE 

[Turns  to  fetch  spear  and  shield,  and  then 

sees  that  CONCHUBAR  has  gone.] 
FIRST  MUSICIAN.  He   came  to   spy   upon 

you,  not  to  fight. 
NAISI.  A  prudent  hunter,  therefore,   but 

no  king. 

He'd  find  if  what  has  fallen  in  the  pit 
Were  worth  the  hunting,  but  has  come  too 

near, 
And  I  turn  hunter.    You're  not  man,  but 

beast. 

Go  scurry  in  the  bushes,  now,  beast,  beast, 
For  now  it's  topsy-turvey.     I  upon  you. 

[He  rushes  out  after  CONCHUBAR.] 
DEIRDRE.  You  have  a  knife  there,  thrust 

into  your  girdle. 
I'd  have  you  give  it  me. 


DEIBDEE  455 

MUSICIAN.  No,  but  I  dare  not. 

DEIRDRE.   No,  but  you  must. 
MUSICIAN.       If  harm  should  come  to  you, 
They'd  know  I  gave  it. 

DEIRDRE   [snatching   knife].    There   is  no 

mark  on  this 

To  make  it  different  from  any  other 
Out  of  a  common  forge.     [Goes  to  the  door  and 

looks  out.] 

MUSICIAN.        You  have  taken  it, 
I  did  not  give  it  you ;  but  there  are  times 
When  such  a  thing  is  all  the  friend  one  has. 
DEIRDRE.  The  leaves  hide  all,  and  there's 

no  way  to  find 

What    path   to   follow.    Why   is   there   no 
sound  ? 

[She  goes  from  door  to  window.  ] 


456  DE1RDEE 

MUSICIAN.  Where  would  you  go  ? 
DEIRDRE.  To  strike  a  blow  for  Naisi, 

If  Conchubar  calls  the  Libyans  to  his  aid. 
But  why  is  there  no  clash?    They  have  met 

by  this ! 
MUSICIAN.   Listen.    I  am  called  wise.    If 

Conchubar  win, 

You  have  a  woman's  wile  that  can  do  much, 
Even  with  men  in  pride  of  victory. 
He   is   in  love  and  old.     What   were   one 

knife 
Among  a  hundred  ? 

DEIRDRE  [going  towards  them}.        Women, 

if  I  die. 

If  Naisi  die  this  night,  how  will  you  praise? 
What  words  seek  out  ?  for  that  will  stand  to 
you; 


DEIEDBE  457 

For  being   but  dead  we  shall   have  many 
friends. 

All  through  your  wanderings,  the  doors  of 
kings 

Shall  be  thrown  wider  open,  the  poor  man's 
hearth 

Heaped  with  new  turf,  because  you  are  wear- 
ing this 

[Gives  MUSICIAN  a  bracelet.] 

To  show  that  you  have  Deirdre's  story  right. 
MUSICIAN.  Have  you  not  been  paid  serv- 
ants in  love's  house 

To  sweep  the  ashes  out  and  keep  the  doors? 

And  though  you  have  suffered  all  for  mere 
love's  sake, 

You'd  live  your  lives  again. 
DEIRDRE.  Even  this  last  hour. 


458  DEIRDRE 

[CoNCHUBAR  enters  with  dark-faced  Men.] 
CONCHUBAR.   One  woman  and  two  men; 

that  is  a  quarrel 
That  knows  no  mending.    Bring  in  the  man 

she  chose 
Because  of  his  beauty  and  the  strength  of  his 

youth. 

[The  dark-faced  Men  drag  in  NAISI  entan- 
gled in  a  net.] 
NAISI.   I  have  been  taken  like  a  bird  or  a 

fish. 
CONCHUBAR.  He  cried  "Beast,  beast ! "  and 

in  a  blind-beast  rage 
He  ran  at  me  and  fell  into  the  nets, 
But  we  were  careful  for  your  sake,  and  took 

him 
With  all  the  comeliness  that  woke  desire 


DEIRDRE  459 

Unbroken  in  him.     I  being  old  and  lenient  — 
I  would  not  hurt  a  hair  upon  his  head. 
DEIRDRE.  What  do  you  say?    Have  you 

forgiven  him  ? 
NAISI.  He  is  but  mocking  us.    What's  left 

to  say 

Now  that  the  seven  years'  hunt  is  at  an  end  ? 
DEIRDRE.  He  never  doubted  you  until  I 

made  him, 

And  therefore  all  the  blame  for  what  he  says 
Should  fall  on  me. 

CONCHUBAR.     But  his  young  blood  is  hot, 
And  if  we're  of  one  mind,  he  shall  go  free, 
And  I  ask  nothing  for  it,  or,  if  something, 
Nothing  I  could  not  take.     There  is  no  king 
In  the  wide  world  that,   being  so  greatly 
wronged, 


460  DEIEDEE 

Could  copy  me,  and  give  all  vengeance  up. 
Although  her  marriage-day  had  all  but  come, 
You  carried  her  away;   but  I'll  show  mercy. 
Because  you  had  the  insolent  strength  of 

youth 

You  carried  her  away ;  but  I've  had  time 
To  think  it  out  through  all  these  seven  years. 
I  will  show  mercy. 

NAISI.  You  have  many  words. 

CONCHUBAR.   I  will  not  make  a  bargain;  I 

but  ask 
What  is  already  mine. 

[DEIRDRE  moves  slowly  towards  CONCHUBAR 
while  he  is  speaking,  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
him.} 

You  may  go  free 
If  Deirdre  will  but  walk  into  my  house 


DEIRDRE  461 

Before  the  people's  eyes,  that  they  may  know 
When  I  have  put  the  crown  upon  her  head 
I  have  not  taken  her  by  force  and  guile. 
The  doors  are  open,  and  the  floors  are  strewed, 
And  in  the  bridal  chamber  curtains  sewn 
With  all  enchantments  that  give  happiness, 
By  races  that  are  germane  to  the  sun, 
And  nearest  him,  and  have  no  blood  in  their 

veins  — 
For  when  they're  wounded  the  wound  drips 

with  wine  — 

Nor  speech  but  singing.  At  the  bridal  door 
Two  fair  king's  daughters  carry  in  their  hands 
The  crown  and  robe. 

DEIRDRE.        Oh,  no !    Not  that,  not  that, 
Ask  any  other  thing  but  that  one  thing. 
Leave  me  with  Naisi.    We  will  go  away 


462  DEIEDEE 

Into  some  country  at  the  ends  of  the  earth. 
We'll  trouble  you  no  more;   and  there  is  no 

one 

That  will  not  praise  you  if  you  pardon  us. 
"He  is  good,  he  is  good,"  they'll  say  to  one 

another ; 

"  There's  nobody  like  him,  for  he  forgave 
Deirdre  and  Naisi." 

CONCHUBAR.  Do  you  think  that  I 

Shall  let  you  go  again,  after  seven  years 
Of  longing  and  of  planning  here  and  there, 
And  trafficking  with  merchants  for  the  stones 
That  make  all  sure,  and  watching  my  own 

face 
That  none  might  read  it  ? 

DEIRDRE  [to  NAISI].   It's  better  to  go  with 

him. 


DEIRDKE  463 

WTiy  should  you  die  when  one  can  bear  it  all  ? 

My  life  is  over ;  it's  better  to  obey. 

Why  should  you  die?    I  will  not  live  long, 

Naisi. 

I'd  not  have  you  believe  I'd  long  stay  living  ; 
Oh  no,  no,  no !    You  will  go  far  away. 
You  will  forget  me.    Speak,   speak,   Naisi, 

speak, 

And  say  that  it  is  better  that  I  go. 
I  will  not  ask  it.    Do  not  speak  a  word, 
For  I  will  take  it  all  upon  myself. 
Conchubar,  I  will  go. 

NAISI.  And  do  you  think 

That,  were  I  given  life  at  such  a  price, 
I  would  not  cast  it  from  me  ?    0,  my  eagle  ! 
Why  do  you  beat  vain  wings  upon  the  rock 
When  hollow  night's  above  ? 


464  DEISDRE 

DEIRDRE.  It's  better,  Naisi. 

It  may  be  hard  for  you,  but  you'll  forget. 
For  what  am  I,  to  be  remembered  always  ? 
And  there  are  other  women.    There  was  one, 
The  daughter  of  the  King  of  Leodas ; 
I  could  not  sleep  because  of  her.    Speak  to 

him; 

Tell  it  out  plain,  and  make  him  understand. 
And  if  it  be  he  thinks  I  shall  stay  living, 
Say  that  I  will  not. 

NAISI.  Would  I  had  lost  life 

Among  those  Scottish  kings  that  sought  it  of 

me, 

Because  you  were  my  wife,  or  that  the  worst 
Had  taken  you  before  this  bargaining  ! 
0  eagle !    If  you  were  to  do  this  thing, 
And  buy  my  life  of  Conchubar  with  your  body, 


DEIRDRE  465 

Love's  law  being  broken,  I  would  stand  alone 
Upon  the  eternal  summits,  and  call  out, 
And  you  could  never  come  there,  being  ban- 
ished. 
DEIRDRE  [kneeling  to  CONCHUBAR].  I  would 

obey,  but  cannot.    Pardon  us. 
I  know  that  you  are  good.     I  have  heard  you 

praised 

For  giving  gifts ;  and  you  will  pardon  us, 
Although  I  cannot  go  into  your  house. 
It  was  my  fault.     I  only  should  be  punished. 
[Unseen  by  DEIRDRE,  NAISI  is  gagged.] 
The  very  moment  these  eyes  fell  on  him, 
I  told  him ;  I  held  out  my  hands  to  him ; 
How  could  he  refuse?    At  first  he  would 

not  — 
I  am  not  lying  —  he  remembered  you. 

VOL.  ii.  — 2  H 


466  DEIRDRE 

What  do  I  say  ?    My  hands  ?  —  No,  no,  my 

lips  — 

For  I  had  pressed  my  lips  upon  his  lips  — 
I  swear  it  is  not  false  —  my  breast  to  his ; 
[CoNCHUBAR   motions;     NAISI,    unseen   by 

DEIRDRE,  is  taken  behind  the  curtain.] 
Until  I  woke  the  passion  that's  in  all, 
And  how  could  he  resist  ?    I  had  my  beauty. 
You  may  have  need  of  him,  a  brave,  strong 

man, 

Who  is  not  foolish  at  the  council  board, 
Nor  does  he  quarrel  by  the  candle-light 
And  give  hard  blows  to  dogs.    A  cup  of  wine 
Moves   him   to   mirth,   not   madness.     [She 

stands  up.] 

What  am  I  saying  ? 
You  may  have  need  of  him,  for  you  have  none 


DEIBDRE  467 

Who  is  so  good  a  sword,  or  so  well  loved 
Among  the  common  people.    You  may  need 

him, 
And  what  king  knows  when  the  hour  of  need 

may  come  ? 
You  dream  that  you  have  men  enough.    You 

laugh. 

Yes ;  you  are  laughing  to  yourself.  You  say, 
"  I  am  Conchubar  —  I  have  no  need  of  him." 
You  will  cry  out  for  him  some  day  and  say, 
"  If  Naisi  were  but  living  "  —  [She  misses 

NAISI.]    Where  is  he? 
Where  have  you  sent  him  ?    Where  is  the  son 

of  Usna? 
Where  is  he,  0,  where  is  he  ? 

[She  staggers  over  to  the  MUSICIANS.     The 

EXECUTIONER  has  come  out  with  sword 


468  DEIEDEE 

on   which   there   is   blood;    CONCHUBAR 

points  to  it.     The  MUSICIANS  give  a  wail.] 

CONCHUBAR.  The  traitor  who  has  carried 

off  my  wife 
No  longer  lives.    Come  to  my  house  now, 

Deirdre, 
For  he  that  called  himself  your  husband's 

dead. 

DEIRDRE.  0,  do  not  touch  me.    Let  me  go 
to  him. 

[Pause.] 
King    Conchubar   is   right.     My   husband's 

dead. 

A  single  woman  is  of  no  account, 
Lacking  array  of  servants,  linen  cupboards, 
The  bacon  hanging  —  and  King  Conchubar's 
*       house 


DEIRDRE  469 

All  ready,   too  —  I'll  to   King  Conchubar's 

house. 

It  is  but  wisdom  to  do  willingly 
What  has  to  be. 

CONCHUBAR.       But  why  are  you  so  calm  ? 
I  thought   that  you   would  curse  me  and 

cry  out, 
And  fall  upon  the  ground  and  tear  your 

hair. 
DEIRDRE  [laughing].  You  know  too  much 

of  women  to  think  so ; 
Though,  if  I  were  less  worthy  of  desire, 
I  would  pretend  as  much;  but,  being  myself, 
It  is  enough  that  you  were  master  here. 
Although  we  are  so  delicately  made, 
There's  something  brutal  in  us,  and  we  are 

won 


470  DEIBDKE 

By  those  who  can  shed  blood.    It  was  some 

woman 
That  taught  you  how  to  woo:    but  do  not 

touch  me : 

I  shall  do  all  you  bid  me,  but  not  yet 
Because  I  have  to  do  what's  customary. 
We  lay  the  dead  out,  folding  up  the  hands, 
Closing  the  eyes,  and  stretching  out  the  feet, 
And  push  a  pillow  underneath  the  head, 
Till  all's  in  order;  and  all  this  I'll  do 
For  Naisi,  son  of  Usna. 

CONCHUBAR.  It  is  not  fitting. 

You  are  not  now  a  wanderer,  but  a  queen, 

And  there  are  plenty  that  can  do  these  things. 
t 
DEIRDRE    [motioning    CONCHUBAR    away]. 

No,  no.     Not  yet.     I  cannot  be  your  queen, 
Till  the  past's  finished,  and  its  debts  are  paid. 


DEIEDEE  471 

When  a  man  dies,  and  there  are  debts  unpaid, 
He  wanders  by  the  debtor's  bed  and  cries, 
"  There's  so  much  owing." 

CONCHUBAR.  You  are  deceiving  me. 

You  long  to  look  upon  his  face  again. 
Why  should  I  give  you  now  to  a  dead  man 
That  took  you  from  a  living  ? 

[He  makes  a  step  towards  her.] 

DEIRDRE.  In  good  time. 

You'll  stir  me    to    more   passion   than  he 

could, 
And  yet,  if  you  are  wise,  you'll  grant  me 

this: 

That  I  go  look  upon  him  that  was  once 
So  strong  and  comely  and  held  his  head  so 

high 
That  women  envied  me.    For  I  will  see  him 


472  DEIEDRE 

All  blood-bedabbled  and  his  beauty  gone. 
It's  better,  when  you're  beside  me  in  your 

strength, 
That  the  mind's  eye  should  call  up  the  soiled 

body, 
And  not  the  shape  I  loved.    Look  at  him, 

women. 

He  heard  me  pleading  to  be  given  up, 
Although  my  lover  was  still  living,  and  yet 
He  doubts  my  purpose.    I  will  have  you  tell 

him 

How  changeable  all  women  are.    How  soon 
Even  the  best  of  lovers  is  forgot, 
When  his  day's  finished. 

CONCHUBAR.  No ;  but  I  will  trust 

The  strength  that  you  have  praised,  and  not 

your  purpose. 


DEIRDRE  473 

DEIRDRE  [almost  with  a  caress].  It  is  so 
small  a  gift,  and  you  will  grant  it 

Because  it  is  the  first  that  I  have  asked. 

He  has  refused.    There  is  no  sap  in  him ; 

Nothing  but  empty  veins.    I  thought  as  much. 

He  has  refused  me  the  first  thing  I  have 
asked  — 

Me,  me,  his  wife.    I  understand  him  now ; 

I  know  the  sort  of  life  I'll  have  with  him ; 

But  he  must  drag  me  to  his  house  by  force. 

If  he  refuse  [she  laughs],  he  shall  be  mocked  of 
aO. 

They'll  say  to  one  another,  "  Look  at  him 

That  is  so  jealous  that  he  lured  a  man 

From  over  sea,  and  murdered  him,  and  yet 

He  trembled  at  the  thought  of  a  dead  face !" 
[She  has  her  hand  upon  curtain.] 


474  DEIRDRE 

CONCHUBAR.  How  do  I  know  that  you  have 

not  some  knife, 
And  go  to  die  upon  his  body  ? 

DEIRDRE.  Have  me  searched, 

If  you  would  make  so  little  of  your  queen. 
It  may  be  that  I  have  a  knife  hid  here 
Under  my   dress.    Bid   one   of   these   dark 

slaves 

To  search  me  for  it.  [Pause.] 

CONCHUBAR.      Go  to  your  farewells,  queen. 
DEIRDRE.  Now  strike  the  wire,  and  sing  to 

it  a  while, 

Knowing  that  all  is  happy,  and  that  you  know 
Within  what  bride-bed  I  shall  lie  this  night 
And  by  what  man,  and  lie  close  up  to  him, 
For  the  bed's  narrow,  and  there  outsleep  the 
cock-crow. 


DEIRDEE  475 

[She  goes  behind  the  curtain.] 
FIRST  MUSICIAN.  They  are  gone,  they  are 

gone.    The  proud  may  lie  by  the  proud. 
SECOND  MUSICIAN.  Though  we  were  bidden 

to  sing,  cry  nothing  loud. 
FIRST  MUSICIAN.  They  are  gone,  they  are 

gone. 
SECOND     MUSICIAN.       Whispering     were 

enough. 
FIRST  MUSICIAN.   Into  the  secret  wilderness 

of  their  love. 
SECOND   MUSICIAN.     A   high,   grey  cairn. 

What  more  is  to  be  said  ? 
FIRST  MUSICIAN.    Eagles  have  gone  into 

their  cloudy  bed. 
[Shouting  outside.     FERGUS  enters.    Many 

men  with  scytJies  and  sickles  and  torches 


476  DEIEDRE 

gather  about  the  doors.     TJie  house  is  lit 
with  the  glare  of  their  torches. 
FERGUS.  Where's  Naisi,  son  of  Usna,  and 

his  queen  ? 

I  and  a  thousand  reaping-hooks  and  scythes 
Demand  him  of  you. 

CONCHUBAR.  You  have  come  too  late. 

I  have  accomplished  all.     Deirdre  is  mine; 

She  is  my  queen,  and  no  man  now  can  rob 

i 
me. 

I  had  to  climb  the  topmost  bough,  and  pull 
This  apple  among  the  winds.    Open  the  cur- 
tain, 
That   Fergus  learn  my  triumph   from   her 

lips. 

[The  curtain  is  drawn  back.     The  MUSI- 
CIANS begin  to  keen  with  low  voices.] 


DEIEDRE  477 

No,  no ;  I'll  not  believe  it.     She  is  not  dead  — 

She  cannot  have  escaped  a  second  time ! 
FERGUS.   King,  she  is  dead;    but  lay  no 
hand  upon  her. 

What's  this  but  empty  cage  and  tangled  wire, 

Now  the  bird's  gone?  but  I'll  not  have  you 

touch  it. 

CONCHUBAR.  You  are  all  traitors,  all 
against  me  —  all. 

And  she  has  deceived  me  for  a  second  time. 

And  every  common  man  can  keep  his  wife, 

But  not  the  King. 

[Loud  shouting  outside:  'Death  to  Conchu- 
bar ! '  '  Where  is  Naisi  f '  etc.  The  dark- 
skinned  men  gatlier  round  CONCHUBAR 
and  draw  their  swords;  but  he  motions 
them  away.} 


478  DE1EDEE 

I  have  no  need  of  weapons, 
There's  not  a  traitor  that  dare  stop  my  way. 
Howl,  if  you  will ;  but  I,  being  king,  did  right 
In  choosing  her  most  fitting  to  be  queen, 
And  letting  no  boy  lover  take  the  sway. 


APPENDIX  I 

THE  LEGENDARY  AND  MYTHOLOGICAL 
FOUNDATION  OF  THE  PLAYS  AND 
POEMS 

ALMOST  every  story  I  have  used  or  person  I  have 
spoken  of  is  in  one  or  other  of  Lady  Gregory's 
"Gods  and  Fighting  Men"  and  "Cuchulain  of 
Muirthemne."  If  my  present  small  Dublin  audi- 
ence for  poetical  drama  grows  and  spreads  beyond 
Dublin,  I  shall  owe  it  to  these  two  books,  master- 
pieces of  prose,  which  can  but  make  the  old  stories 
as  familiar  to  Irishmen  everywhere  as  are  the  stories 
of  Arthur  and  his  knights  to  all  readers  of  books. 
I  cannot  believe  that  it  is  from  friendship  that 
I  weigh  these  books  with  Mallory  and  feel  no  dis- 
content at  the  tally,  or  that  it  is  the  wish  to  make 
the  circumstantial  origin  of  my  own  art  familiar, 
that  would  make  me  give  them  before  all  other 
books  to  Irish  boys  and  girls.  I  wrote  for  the  most 
part  before  they  were  written,  but  all  or  all  but  all 
is  there,  Oisin  wandering,  Cuchulain  killing  his  son 
and  fighting  the  sea,  Maeve  and  her  children,  Baile 
and  Aillin,  Angus  and  his  fellow-immortals,  all 
literally  translated,  though  with  much  condensa- 
tion and  selection,  from  the  old  writings.  A  few 
479 


480  APPENDIX 

of  my  stories  are  not  hers  also.  I  took  the  story 
of  "The  Ballad  of  the  Old  Fox  Hunter"  from 
"Knocknagow,"  and  the  story  of  "The  Ballad  of 
Father  Hart"  from  a  Sligo  county  history;  that  of 
"  The  Ballad  of  Moll  Magee  "  from  a  sermon  preached 
in  the  chapel  at  Howth  if  I  remember  rightly,  that 
of  "The  Countess  Cathleen"  from  a  story  told  as 
Irish  by  Leo  Lespes  in  "Les  Matinees  de  Timothe 
Trimm,"  —  there  is  a  Donegal  story  resembling  it 
in  its  principal  incident  in  Larmonie's  "West  Irish 
Folk  Tales,"  —  and  the  story  of  the  " King's  Thresh- 
old" from  a  middle  Irish  account  of  the  fantastic 
demands  of  the  poet  at  the  court  of  King  Guaire ; 
but  I  have  revised  the  moral  of  this  last  story  to 
let  the  poet  have  the  best  of  it.  One  of  my  fellow- 
playwrights  is  going,  I  have  good  hope,  to  take  the 
other  side  and  make  a  play  that  can  be  played  after 
it,  as  in  Greece  the  farce  followed  the  tragedy. 
"The  Shadowy  Waters"  and  "The  Land  of  Heart's 
Desire"  have  a  good  deal  of  incidental  Irish  folk- 
lore and  mythology  but  are  not  founded  on  any 
particular  story.  Here  and  there,  specially  in  "  The 
Wind  among  the  Reeds,"  I  have  used  fragments 
of  ancient  mythology  common  to  all  lands.  "The 
Deer  with  no  Horns"  and  the  "Flying  Fawn" 
are  certainly  Irish  symbols  of  the  desire  of  the  man 
which  is  for  the  woman,  and  the  desire  of  the  woman 
which  is  for  the  desire  of  the  man,  as  Coleridge  said ; 
but  it  is  only  the  speculation  of  Celtic  scholars  that 
makes  the  "Death-pale  Deer"  and  "The  Boar  with- 


APPENDIX  481 

out  Bristles"  not  mere  creatures  of  romance,  but 
symbols  of  the  end  of  all  things.  For  a  long  tune 
symbols  of  this  kind  had  for  me  a  very  intense,  a 
very  personal  importance,  and  they  are  too  much 
woven  into  the  fabric  of  my  work  for  me  to  give  a 
detailed  account  of  them  one  by  one. 


VOL.  II.  — 2  I 


APPENDIX  II 

I  FOUND  the  story  of  the  Countess  Cathleen  in 
what  professed  to  be  a  collection  of  Irish  folk- 
lore in  an  Irish  newspaper  some  years  ago.  I  wrote 
to  the  compiler,  asking  about  its  source,  but  got 
no  answer,  but  have  since  heard  that  it  was  trans- 
lated from  Les  Matinees  de  Timothb  Trimm  a  good 
many  years  ago,  and  has  been  drifting  about  the 
Irish  press  ever  since.  Le"o  Lespes  gives  it  as  an 
Irish  story,  and  though  the  editor  of  Folklore  has 
kindly  advertised  for  information,  the  only  Christian 
variant  I  know  of  is  a  Donegal  tale,  given  by  Mr. 
Larminie  in  his  West  Irish  Folk  Tales  and  Romances, 
of  a  woman  who  goes  to  hell  for  ten  years  to  save 
her  husband,  and  stays  there  another  ten,  having 
been  granted  permission  to  carry  away  as  many 
souls  as  could  cling  to  her  skirt.  Leo  Lespes  may 
have  added  a  few  details,  but  I  have  no  doubt  of 
the  essential  antiquity  of  what  seems  to  me  the 
most  impressive  form  of  one  of  the  supreme  parables 
of  the  world.  The  parable  came  to  the  Greeks  in 
the  sacrifice  of  Alcestis,  but  her  sacrifice  was  less 
overwhelming,  less  apparently  irremediable.  Le"o 
Lespes  tells  the  story  as  follows :  — 

Ce  que  je  vais  vous  dire  est  un  re"cit  du  care"me 
Irlandais.     Le    boiteux,    1'aveugle,    le    paralytique 
des  rues  de  Dublin  ou  de  Limerick,  vous  le  diraient 
482 


APPENDIX  483 

mieux  que  moi,  cher  lecteur,  si  vous  alliez  le  leur 
demander,  un  sixpense  d'argent  a  la  main.  —  II 
n'est  pas  une  jeune  fille  catholique  a  laquelle  on  ne 
1'ait  appris  pendant  les  jours  de  preparation  a  la 
communion  sainte,  pas  un  berger  des  bords  de  la 
Blackwater  qui  ne  le  puisse  redire  a  la  veillee. 

II  y  a  bien  longtemps  qu'il  apparut  tout-a-coup 
dans  la  vieille  Irlande  deux  marchands  inconnus  dont 
personne  n'avait  oui  parler,  et  qui  parlaient  nean- 
moins  avec  la  plus  grande  perfection  la  langue  du 
pays.  Leurs  cheveux  etaient  noirs  et  ferres  avec 
de  1'or  et  leurs  robes  d'une  grande  magnificence. 

Tous  deux  semblaient  avoir  le  m£me  age ;  ils 
paraissaient  etre  des  homines  de  cinquante  ans,  car 
leur  barbe  grisonnait  un  peu. 

Or,  a  cette  6poque,  comme  aujourd'hui,  1'Irlande 
e"tait  pauvre,  car  le  soleil  avait  ete  rare,  et  des 
recoltes  presque  nulles.  Les  indigents  ne  savaient 
a  quel  sainte  se  vouer,  et  la  misere  devenait  de  plus 
en  plus  terrible. 

Dans  I'hotellerie  ou  descendirent  les  marchands 
fastueux  on  chercha  a  penetrer  leurs  desseins :  mais 
ce  fut  en  vain,  ils  demeurerent  silencieux  et  discrets. 

Et  pendant  qu'ils  demeurerent  dans  I'hotellerie, 
ils  ne  cesserent  de  compter  et  de  recompter  des  sacs 
de  pieces  d'or,  dont  la  vive  dartS  s'apercevait  a 
travers  les  vitres  du  logis. 

Gentlemen,  leur  dit  1'hotesse  un  jour,  d'ou  vient 
que  vous  etes  si  opulents,  et  que,  venus  pour  secourir 
la  misere  publique,  vous  ne  fassiez  pas  de  bonnes 
oeuvres  ? 

—  Belle  hotesse,  repondit  Tun  d'eux,  nous  n'avona 


484  APPENDIX 

pas  voulu  aller  au-devant  d'infortunes  honorables, 
dans  la  crainte  d'etre  tromp6s  par  des  miseres  fictives  : 
que  la  douleur  frappe  a  la  porte,  nous  ouvrirons. 

Le  lendemain,  quand  on  sut  qu'il  existait  deux 
opulents  etrangers  prets  a  prodiguer  1'or,  la  foule 
assiegea  leur  logis ;  mais  les  figures  des  gens  qui 
en  sortaient  e"taient  bien  diverses.  Les  uns  avaient 
la  fierte"  dans  le  regard,  les  autres  portaient  la  honte 
au  front.  Les  deux  trafiquants  achetaient  des 
ames  pour  le  de"mon.  L'ame  d'un  vieillard  valait 
vingt  pieces  d'or,  pas  un  penny  de  plus ;  car  Satan 
avait  eu  le  temps  d'y  former  hypotheque.  L'ame 
d'une  epose  en  valait  cinquante  quand  elle  etait 
jolie/  ou  cent  quand  elle  6tait  laide.  L'ame  d'une 
jeune  fille  se  payait  des  prix  fous :  les  fleurs 
les  plus  belles  et  les  plus  pures  sont  les  plus  chores. 

Pendant  ce  temps,  il  existait  dans  la  ville  un  ange 
de  beaute",  la  comtesse  Ketty  O'Connor.  Elle 
e"tait  1'idole  du  peuple,  et  la  providence  des  indigents. 
Des  qu'elle  eut  appris  que  des  me'cre'ants  profitaient 
de  la  mis&re  publique  pour  derober  des  coeurs  a 
Dieu,  elle  fit  appeler  son  majordome. 

—  Master   Patrick,    lui   dit   elle,    combien    ai-je 
de  pieces  d'or  dans  mon  coffre  ? 

—  Cent  mille. 

—  Combien  de  bijoux  ? 

—  Peur  autant  d 'argent. 

—  Combien  de  chateux,  de  bois  et  de  terres  ? 

—  Pour  le  double  de  ces  sommes. 

—  Eh  bien!     Patrick,  vendez  tout    ce  qui   n'est 
pas  or  et  apportez-m'en  le  montant.     Je  ne  veux 
garder  a  moi  que  ce  castel  et  le  champ  qui  1'entoure. 


APPENDIX  485 

Deux  jours  apre"s,  les  ordres  de  la  pieuse  Ketty 
e"taient  executes  et  le  tresor  e"tait.  distribue  aux 
pauvres  au  fur  et  a  mesure  de  leurs  besoins. 

Ceci  ne  faisait  pas  le  compte,  dit  la  tradition,  des 
commis-voyageurs  du  malin  esprit,  qui  ne  trou- 
vaient  plus  d'ame  a  acheter. 

Aides  par  un  valet  infame,  ils  pe"ne"tr&rent  dans 
la  retraite  de  la  noble  dame  et  lui  deroberent  le 
reste  de  son  tresor  ...  en  vain  lutta-t-elle  de 
toutes  ses  forces  pour  sauver  le  contenu  de  son  coffre, 
les  larrons  diaboliques  furent  les  plus  forts.  Si 
Ketty  avait  eu  les  moyens  de  faire  un  signe  de 
croix,  ajoute  la  legende  Irlandaise,  elle  les  eut  mis 
en  fuite,  mais  ses  mains  e"taient  captives  —  Le 
larcin  fut  effectue".  Alors  les  pauvres  solliciterent 
en  vain  pres  de  Ketty  depouillee,  elle  ne  pouvait 
plus  secourir  leur  misere ;  —  Elle  les  abandonnait 
a  la  tentation.  Pourtant  il  n'y  avait  plus  que  huit 
jours  a  passer  pour  que  les  grains  et  les  fourrages 
arrivassent  en  abondance  des  pays  d' Orient.  Mais, 
huit  jours,  c'etait  un  siecle :  huit  jours  necessi- 
taient  une  somme  immense  pour  subvenir  aux  exi- 
gences de  la  disette,  et  les  pauvres  allaient  ou  expirer 
dans  les  angousses  de  la  faim,  ou,  reniant  les  saintes 
maximes  de  1'Evangile,  vendre  a  vil  prix  leur  ame, 
le  plus  beau  present  de  la  munificence  du  Seigneur 
toutpuissant. 

Et  Ketty  n'avait  plus  une  obole,  car  elle  avait 
abandonne  son  chateux  aux  malheureux. 

Elle  passa  douze  heures  dans  les  larmes  et  le 
deuil,  arrachant  ses  cheveux  couleur  de  soleil  et 
meurtrissant  son  sein  couleur  du  lis :  puis  elle  se 


486  APPENDIX 

leva   r6solue,    anim6e    par    un   vif    sentiment    de 
d6sespoir. 

Elle  se  rendit  chez  les  marchands  d'ames. 

—  Que  voulez-vous  ?   dirent  ils. 

—  Vous  achetez  des  ames  ? 

—  Oui,  un  peu  malgre"  vous,  n'est  ce  pas,  sainte 
aux  yeux  de  saphir  ? 

—  Aujourd'hui  je  viens  vous  proposer  un  marche", 
reprit  elle. 

—  Lequel  ? 

—  J'ai  une  ame  a  vendre ;   mais  elle  est  chere. 

—  Qu'importe    si    elle    est     precieuse  ?     1'ame, 
comme  le  diamant,  s'appre'cie  a  sa  blaneheur. 

—  C'est  la  mienne,  dit  Ketty. 

Les  deux  envoyes  de  Satan  tressaillirent.  Leurs 
griffes  s'allongerent  sous  leurs  gants  de  cuir ;  leurs 
yeux  gris  etincelerent :  —  1'ame,  pure,  immaculee, 
virginale  de  Ketty  !  .  .  .  c'etait  une  acquisition 
inappreciable. 

—  Gentille  dame,  combien  voulez-vouz  ? 

—  Cent  cinquante  mille  6cus  d'or. 

—  C'est  fait,  dirent  les  marchands  :  et  ils  tendirent 
a   Ketty   un   parchemin   cachet^   de   noir,   qu'elle 
signa  en  frissonnant. 

La  somme  lui  fut  compte"e. 

Des  qu'elle  fut  rentr^e,  elle  dit  au  majordome: 

—  Tenez,  distribuez  ceci.     Avec  la  somme  que  je 
vous    donne   les    pauvres    attendront    la    huitaine 
necessaire  et  pas  une  de  leurs  ames  ne  sera  livree 
au  de"mon. 

Puis  elle  s'enferma  et  recommanda  qu'on  ne  vint 
pas  la  deranger. 


APPENDIX  487 

Trois  jours  se  passerent ;  elle  n'appela  pas ;  elle 
ne  sortit  pas. 

Quand  on  ouvrit  sa  porte,  on  la  trouva  raide  et 
froide :  elle  etait  morte  de  douleur. 

Mais  la  vente  de  cette  ame  si  adorable  dans  sa 
charite  fut  declaree  nulle  par  le  Seigneur :  car  elle 
avait  sauve  ses  eoncitoyens  de  la  morte  6ternelle. 

Apres  la  huitaine,  des  vaisseaux  nombreux  amen- 
erent  a  1'Irlande  affamee  d'immenses  provisions  de 
grains. 

La  famine  n'etait  plus  possible.  Quant  aux 
marchands,  ils  disparurent  de  leur  hotellerie,  sans 
qu'on  sut  jamais  ce  qu'ils  e"taient  devenus. 

Toutefois,  les  pecheurs  de  la  Blackwater  preten- 
dent  qu'ils  sont  enehaines  dans  une  prison  souter- 
raine  per  ordre  de  Lucifer  jusqu'au  moment  ou 
ils  pourront  li\Ter  I'ame  de  Ketty  qui  leur  a  echappe. 
Je  vous  dis  la  16gende  telle  que  je  la  sais. 

— Mais  les  pauvres  1'ont  raconte  d'age  en  age  et 
les  enfants  de  Cork  et  de  Dublin  chantent  encore 
la  ballade  dont  voici  les  derniers  couplets :  — 

Pour  sauver  les  pauvres  qu'elle  aime 

Ketty  donna 
Son  esprit,  sa  croyance  m§me : 

Satan  paya 
Cette  ame  au  devoument  sublime, 

En  ecus  d'or, 
Disons  pour  racheter  son  crime, 

Confdeor. 

Mais  1'ange  qui  se  fit  coupable 
Par  charite 


488  APPENDIX 

Au  se'jour  d' amour  ineffable 

Est  remonte. 
Satan  vaincu  n'eut  pas  de  prise 

Sur  ce  eoeur  d'or ; 
Chantons  sous  la  nef  de  1'eglise, 

Confiteor. 

N'est-ce  pas  que  ce  recit,  ne  de  1'imagination  des 
poetes  catholiques  de  la  verte  Erin,  est  une  veritable 
re"cit  de  cargme? 

"  The  Countess  Cathleen"  was  first  acted  in  Dublin 
on  May  8th,  1899,  at  the  Ancient  Concert  Rooms,  with 
Mr.  Marcus  St.  John  and  Mr.  Trevor  Lowe  as  the  First 
and  Second  Demons,  Mr.  Valentine  Grace  as  Shemus 
Rua,  Master  Charles  Sefton  as  Teig,  Madame  San  Ca- 
rola  as  Mary,  Miss  Florence  Farr  as  Aleel,  Miss  Anna 
Mather  as  Oona,  Mr.  Charles  Holmes  as  the  Herdsman, 
Mr.  Jack  Wilcox  as  the  Gardener,  Mr.  Walford  as  a 
Peasant,  Miss  Dorothy  Paget  as  a  Spirit,  Miss  M.  Kelly 
as  a  Peasant  Woman,  Mr.  T.  E.  Wilkinson  as  a  Servant, 
and  Miss  May  Whitty  as  The  Countess  Kathleen. 
They  had  to  face  a  very  vehement  opposition  stirred 
up  by  a  politician  and  a  newspaper,  the  one  accusing 
me  in  a  pamphlet,  the  other  in  long  articles  day  after 
day,  of  blasphemy  because  of  the  language  of  the 
demons  or  of  Shemus  Rua,  and  because  I  made  a 
woman  sell  her  soul  and  yet  escape  damnation, 
and  of  a  lack  of  patriotism  because  I  made  Irish 
men  and  women,  who,  it  seems,  never  did  such  a 
thing,  sell  theirs.  The  politician  or  the  newspaper 
persuaded  some  forty  Catholic  students  to  sign  a 


APPENDIX  48^ 

protest  against  the  play,  and  a  Cardinal,  who 
avowed  that  he  had  not  read  it,  to  make  another, 
and  both  politician  and  newspaper  made  such  ob- 
vious appeals  to  the  audience  to  break  the  peace, 
that  a  score  or  so  of  police  were  sent  to  the  the- 
atre to  see  that  they  did  not.  I  had,  however,  no 
reason  to  regret  the  result,  for  the  stalls,  containing 
almost  all  that  was  distinguished  in  Dublin,  and  a 
gallery  of  artisans  alike,  insisted  on  the  freedom  of 
literature. 

After  the  performance  in  1899  I  added  the  love 
scene  between  Aleel  and  the  Countess,  and  in  this 
new  form  the  play  was  revived  in  New  York  by 
Miss  Wycherley,  as  well  as  being  played  a  good  deal 
in  England  and  America  by  amateurs  ;  now  at  last 
I  have  made  a  complete  revision  to  make  it  suitable 
for  performance  at  the  Abbey  Theatre.  The  first 
two  scenes  are  almost  wholly  new,  and  throughout 
the  play  I  have  added  or  left  out  such  passages 
as  a  stage  experience  of  some  years  showed  me 
encumbered  the  action,  the  play  in  its  first  form 
having  been  written  before  I  knew  anything  of  the 
theatre.  I  have  left  the  old  end,  however,  in  the 
version  printed  in  the  body  of  this  book,  because 
the  change  for  dramatic  purposes  has  been  made 
for  no  better  reason  than  that  audiences  —  even  at 
the  Abbey  Theatre  —  are  almost  ignorant  of  Irish 
mythology,  or  because  a  shallow  stage  .made  the 
elaborate  vision  of  armed  angels  upon  a  mountain- 
side impossible.  The  new  end  is  particularly 
suited  to  the  Abbey  stage,  where  the  stage  platform 
can  be  brought  out  in  front  of  the  proscenium  and 


490  APPENDIX 

have  a  flight  of  steps  at  one  side  up  which  the  Angel 
conies,  crossing  towards  the  back  of  the  stage  at 
the  opposite  side.  The  principal  lighting  is  from 
two  arc  lights  in  the  balcony  which  throw  their 
lights  into  the  faces  of  the  players,  making  footlights 
unnecessary.  The  room  at  Shemus  Rua's  house  is 
suggested  by  a  great  grey  curtain  —  a  colour 
which  becomes  full  of  rich  tints  under  the  stream 
of  light  from  the  arcs.  The  two  or  more  arches  in 
the  third  scene  permit  the  use  of  a  gauze.  The 
short  front  scene  before  the  last  is  just  long  enough 
when  played  with  incidental  music  to  allow  the 
scene  set  behind  it  to  be  changed.  The  play  when 
played  without  interval  in  this  way  lasts  a  little 
over  an  hour. 

The  play  was  performed  at  the  Abbey  Theatre 
for  the  first  time  on  December  14,  1911,  Miss 
Maire  O'Neill  taking  the  part  of  the  Countess,  and 
the  last  scene  from  the  going  out  of  the  Merchants 
was  as  follows  :  — 

[MERCHANTS  rush  out.     ALEBL  crawls  into  the 

middle  of  the  room;  the  twilight  has  fallen 

and  gradually  darkens  as  the  scene  goes  on.] 

ALEEL.  They  're  rising  up  —  they're  rising  through 

the  earth, 

Fat  Asmodel  and  giddy  Belial, 
And  all  the  fiends.     Now  they  leap  in  the  air. 
But  why  does  Hell's  gate  creak  so?      Bound  and 

round, 
Hither  and  hither,  to  and  fro  they're  running. 

[He  moves  about  as  though  the  air  was  full  of 
spirits.     OONA  enters.] 


APPENDIX  491 

Crouch  down,  old  heron,  out  of  the  blind  storm. 
OONA.   Where  is  the  Countess  Cathleen  ?     All  this 

day 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  when  for  a  moment 
Her  hand  was  laid  upon  my  hand,  it  trembled. 
And  now  I  do  not  know  where  she  is  gone. 
ALEEL.   Cathleen  has   chosen  other  friends  than 

us, 

And  they  are  rising  through  the  hollow  world. 
Demons  are  out,  old  heron. 

OONA.  God  guard  her  soul. 

ALEEL.    She's  bartered  it  away  this  very  hour, 
As  though  we  two  were  never  in  the  world. 

[He  kneels  beside  her,  but  does  not  seem  to  hear 
her  words.  The  PEASANTS  return.  They 
carry  the  COUNTESS  CATHLEEN  and  lay  her 
upon  the  ground  before  OONA  and  ALEEL. 
She  lies  there  as  if  dead.] 

OONA.   O,  that  so  many  pitchers  of  rough  clay 
Should  prosper  and  the  porcelain  break  in  two  ! 

[She  kisses  the  hands  of  CATHLEEN.] 
A  PEASANT.   We  were  under  the  tree  where  the 

path  turns 

When  she  grew  pale  as  death  and  fainted  away. 
CATHLEEN.   O,  hold  me,  and  hold  me  tightly,  for 

the  storm 
Is  dragging  me  away. 

[OoNA  takes  her  in  her  arms.     A  WOMAN  begins 

to  wail.] 

PEASANTS.  Hush ! 

PEASANTS.  Hush ! 

PEASANT  WOMEN.  Hush ! 


492  APPENDIX 

OTHER  PEASANT  WOMEN.  Hush  ! 

CATHLEEN    [half  rising].     Lay  all    the    bags    of 

money  in  a  heap, 

And  when  I  am  gone,  old  Oona,  share  them  out 
To  every  man  and  woman :  judge,  and  give 
According  to  their  needs. 

A  PEASANT  WOMAN.        And  will  she  give 
Enough  to  keep  my  children  through  the  dearth  ? 
ANOTHER  PEASANT  WOMAN.     O,  Queen  of  Heaven, 

and  all  you  blessed  saints 
Let  us  and  ours  be  lost,  so  she  be  shriven. 

CATHLEEN.   Bend  down    your  faces,   Oona  and 

Aleel; 

I  gaze  upon  them  as  the  swallow  gazes 
Upon  the  nest  under  the  eave,  before 
She  wander  the  loud  waters.     Do  not  weep 
Too  great  a  while,  for  there  is  many  a  candle 
On  the  High  Altar  though  one  fall.     Aleel, 
Who  sang  about  the  dancers  of  the  woods, 
That  know  not  the  hard  burden  of  the  world, 
Having  but  breath  in  their  kind  bodies,  farewell ! 
And  farewell,  Oona,  you  who  played  with  me 
And  bore  me  in  your  arms  about  the  house 
When  I  was  but  a  child  —  and  therefore  happy, 
Therefore  happy  even  like  those  that  dance. 
The  storm  is  in  my  hair  and  I  must  go. 

[She  dies.] 
OONA.   Bring  me  the  looking-glass. 

[A  WOMAN  brings  it  to  her  out  of  inner  room. 
OONA  holds  glass  over  the  lips  of  CATHLEEN. 
All  is  silent  for  a  moment,  then  she  speaks 
in  a  half-scream.] 


APPENDIX 


O,  she  is  dead  ! 
A  PEASANT.   She  was  the  great  white  lily  of  the 

world. 
A  PEASANT.   She    was    more  beautiful  then  the 

pale  stars. 

AN  OLD  PEASANT  WOMAN.  The  little  plant  I  loved 
is  broken  in  two. 

[ALEEL  takes  looking-glass  from  OONA  and 
flings  it  upon  floor,  so  that  it  is  broken  in 
many  pieces.] 

ALEEL.   I  shatter  you  in  fragments,  for  the  face 
That  brimmed  you  up  with  beauty  is  no  more  ; 
And  die,  dull  heart,  for  you  that  were  a  mirror 
Are  but  a  ball  of  passionate  dust  again  ! 
And  level  earth  and  plumy  sea,  rise  up  ! 
And  haughty  sky,  fall  down  ! 

A  PEASANT  WOMAN.        Pull  him  upon  his  knees, 
His  curses  will  pluck  lightning  on  our  heads. 

ALEEL.   Angels  and  devils  clash  in  the  middle  air, 
And  brazen  swords  clang  upon  brazen  helms. 
Look,  look,  a  spear  has  gone  through  Belial's  eye  ! 
[A  winged  ANGEL,  carrying  a  torch  and  a  sword, 
enters  from  the  R.  with  eyes  fixed  upon  some 
distant  thing.     The  ANGEL  is  about  to  pass 
out   to   the   L.,  when   ALEEL   speaks.     The 
ANGEL  stops  a  moment  and  turns.] 
Look  no  more  on  the  half-closed  gates  of  Hell, 
But  speak  to  me  whose  mind  is  smitten  of  God, 
That  it  may  be  no  more  with  mortal  things  : 
And  tell  of  her  who  lies  there. 

(The  ANGEL  turns  again  and  is  about  to  go,  but 
is  seized  by  ALEEL.] 


494  APPENDIX 

Till  you  speak 
You  shall  not  drift  into  eternity. 

THE  ANGEL.    The  light  beats  down;   the  gates  of 

pearl  are  wide. 

And  she  is  passing  to  the  floor  of  peace, 
And  Mary  of  the  seven  times  wounded  heart 
Has  kissed  her  lips,  and  the  long  blessed  hair 
Has  fallen  on  her  face;  the  Light  of  Lights 
Looks  always  on  the  motive,  not  the  deed, 
The  Shadow  of  Shadows  on  the  deed  alone. 

[ALEEL  releases  the  ANGEL  and  kneels.] 

OONA.    Tell  them  to  walk  upon  the  floor  of  peace, 
That  I  would  die  and  go  to  her  I  love, 
The  years  like  great  black  oxen  tread  the  world, 
And  God  the  herdsman  goads  them  on  behind, 
And  I  am  broken  by  their  passing  feet. 

"  The  Land  of  Heart's  Desire  "  was  first  produced 
at  the  Avenue  Theatre  in  the  spring  of  1894,  with  the 
following  cast :  Maurteen  Bruin,  Mr.  James  Welch ; 
Shawn  Bruin,  Mr.  A.  E.  W.  Mason;  Father  Hart,  Mr. 
G.  R.  Foss;  Bridget  Bruin,  Miss  Charlotte  Morland; 
Maire  Bruin,  Miss  Winifred  Fraser;  a  Faery  Child, 
Miss  Dorothy  Paget.  It  ran  for  a  little  over  six 
weeks.  It  was  revived  in  America  in  1901,  when  it 
was  taken  on  tour  by  Mrs.  Lemoyne.  It  has  been 
played  two  or  three  times  professionally  since  then 
in  America  and  a  great  many  times  in  England  and 
America  by  amateurs.  Till  lately  it  was  not  part 
of  the  repertory  of  the  Abbey  Theatre,  for  I  had 
grown  to  dislike  it  without  knowing  what  I  disliked 
in  it.  This  winter,  however,  I  have  made  many 


APPENDIX  495 

revisions,  and  now  it  plays  well  enough  to  give  me 
pleasure.  It  is  printed  in  this  book  in  the  new 
form,  which  was  acted  for  the  first  time  on  Febru- 
ary 22,  1912,  at  the  Abbey  Theatre,  Dublin.  At 
the  Abbey  Theatre,  where  the  platform  of  the  stage 
comes  out  in  front  of  the  curtain,  the  curtain  falls 
before  the  priest's  last  words.  He  remains  outside 
the  curtain  and  the  words  are  spoken  to  the  audience 
like  an  epilogue. 

The  first  version  of  "  The  Shadowy  Waters  "  was 
first  performed  on  January  14,  1904,  in  the  Moles- 
worth  Hall,  Dublin,  with  the  following  players  in 
the  principal  parts :  Forgael,  F.  Fay ;  Aibric,  Seumas 
O'Sullivan;  Dectora,  Maire  NicShiubhlaigh.  Its  pro- 
duction was  an  accident,  for  in  the  first  instance 
I  had  given  it  to  the  company  that  they  might  have 
some  practice  in  the  speaking  of  my  sort  of  blank 
verse  until  I  had  a  better  play  finished.  It  played 
badly  enough,  but  a  little  better  than  I  had  feared; 
and  as  I  had  been  in  America  when  it  was  first  played, 
I  got  it  played  again  privately  and  gave  it  to  Miss 
Farr  for  a  theosophical  convention  that  I  might  dis- 
cover how  to  set  it  aright  as  a  play.  I  then  com- 
pletely rewrote  it  in  the  form  that  it  has  in  the  text 
of  this  book,  but  this  version  had  once  again  to  be 
condensed  and  altered  for  its  production  in  Dublin 
on  November  28,  1906.  Mr.  Sinclair  then  took  the 
part  of  Aibric  and  Miss  Darragh  that  of  Dectora, 
while  Mr.  F.  Fay  was  Forgael,  as  before.  The  scen- 
ery was  designed  by  Mr.  Robert  Gregory. 

"  On  Baile's  Strand  "  was  first  played,  but  in  a 
version  considerably  different  from  the  present,  on 


496  APPENDIX 

December  27,  1904,  at  the  Abbey  Theatre,  Dub- 
lin, and  with  the  following  cast:  Cuchulain,  Frank 
Fay;  Conchobar,  George  Roberts;  Daire  (an  old 
king,  not  now  in  the  play),  G.  Macdonald;  the  Blind 
Man,  Seumas  O'Sullivan;  the  Fool,  William  Fay; 
the  Young  Man,  P.  MacShiubhlaigh.  It  was 
revived  by  the  National  Theatre  Society,  Ltd.,  in 
a  somewhat  altered  version  at  Oxford,  Cambridge, 
and  London  a  few  months  later  I  then  entirely 
rewrote  it  up  to  the  entrance  of  the  Young  Man  and 
changed  it  a  good  deal  from  that  on  to  the  end,  and 
this  new  version  was  played  at  the  Abbey  Theatre 
in  April,  1906. 

It  is  now  as  right  as  I  can  make  it  with  my  pres- 
ent experience,  but  it  must  always  be  a  little  over- 
complicated when  played  by  itself.  It  is  one  of 
a  cycle  of  plays  dealing  with  Cuchulain,  with  his 
friends  and  enemies.  One  of  these  plays  will  have 
Aoife  as  its  central  character,  and  the  principal 
motive  of  another  will  be  the  power  of  the  witches 
over  Cuchulain's  life.  The  present  play  is  a  kind 
of  cross-road,  where  too  many  interests  meet  and 
jostle  for  the  hearer  to  take  them  in  at  a  first  hearing 
unless  he  listen  carefully,  or  know  something  of  the 
story  of  the  other  plays  of  the  cycle. 

"  The  King's  Threshold  "  was  first  played  October 
7,  1903,  in  the  Molesworth  Hall  by  the  Irish  National 
Theatre  Society,  and  with  the  following  cast:  Sean- 
chan,  F.  Fay;  King  Guaire,  P.  Kelly;  the  Lord 
High  Chamberlain,  Seumas  O'Sullivan;  Soldier, 
W.  Conroy;  Monk,  S.  Sheridan-Neill ;  Mayor, 
W.  Fay;  a  Cripple,  P.  Colomb;  a  Court  Lady, 


APPENDIX  497 

Honour  Lavelle;  another  Court  Lady,  Dora 
Melville;  a  Princess,  Sara  Allgood;  another  Prin- 
cess, Dora  Gunning;  Fedelm,  Maire  NicShiubh- 
laigh;  a  Servant,  P.  MacShiubhlaigh ;  another 
Servant,  P.  Josephs;  a  Pupil,  G.  Roberts;  another 
Pupil,  Cartia  MacChormac. 

It  has  been  revised  a  good  many  times  since  then, 
and  although  the  play  has  not  been  changed  in  the 
radical  structure,  the  parts  of  the  Mayor,  Servant, 
and  Cripples  are  altogether  new,  and  the  rest  is 
altered  here  and  there.  It  was  written  when  our 
Society  was  having  a  hard  fight  for  the  recognition 
of  pure  art  in  a  community  of  which  one  half  was 
buried  in  the  practical  affairs  of  life  and  the  other 
half  in  politics  and  a  propagandist  patriotism. 

"  Deirdre  "  was  first  played  at  the  Abbey  Theatre, 
Dublin,  on  November  27,  1906,  with  Miss  Darragh  as 
Deirdre ;  Mr.  Frank  Fay  as  Naisi ;  Mr.  Sinclair  as  Fergus; 
Mr.  Kerrigan  as  Conchobar;  and  Miss  Sara  Allgood, 
Miss  M'Neill,  and  Miss  O'Dempsey  as  the  Musicians. 
The  scenery  was  by  Mr.  Robert  Gregory. 

Since  then  the  principal  part  has  been  taken  by 
Miss  Mona  Limerick,  Miss  Sara  Allgood,  and  Miss 
Maire  O'Neill,  and  by  Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell,  who 
played  it  in  Dublin  and  London  with  the  Abbey 
Company  in  1907  and  1908,  as  well  as  playing  it 
with  a  company  of  her  own  in  London  in  the  autumn 
of  1907. 

W.  B.  YEATS. 

ABBEY  THEATRE, 
DUBLIN,  March,  1912. 


VOL.  it.  — 2K 


APPENDIX  III 

ACTING  VERSION   OF  THE   SHADOWY 
WATERS 

THE  scene  is  the  same  as  in  the  text  except  that 
the  sail  is  dull  copper  colour.  The  poop  rises  several 
feet  above  the  stage,  and  from  the  overhanging  stern 
hangs  a  lanthorn  with  a  greenish  light.  The  sea 
or  sky  is  represented  by  a  semicircular  cloth  of 
which  nothing  can  be  seen  except  a  dark  abyss,  for 
the  stage  is  lighted  by  arclights  so  placed  upon 
a  bridge  over  the  proscenium  as  to  throw  a  perpen- 
dicular light  upon  the  stage.  The  light  is  dim,  and 
there  are  deep  shadows  which  waver  as  if  with  the 
passage  of  clouds  over  the  moon.  The  persons 
are  dressed  in  blue  and  green,  arid  move  but  little. 
Some  sailors  are  discovered  crouching  by  the  sail. 
Forgael  is  asleep  and  Aibric  standing  by  the  tiller 
on  the  raised  poop. 

First  Sailor.  It  is  long  enough,  and  too  long, 
FORGAEL  has  been  bringing  us  through  the  waste 
places  of  the  great  sea. 

Second  Sailor.  We  did  not  meet  with  a  ship  to 
make  a  prey  of  these  eight  weeks,  or  any  shore  or 
island  to  plunder  or  to  harry.  It  is  a  hard  thing, 
498 


APPENDIX  499 

age  to  be  coming  on  me,  and  I  not  to  get  the  chance 
of  doing  a  robbery  that  would  enable  me  to  live 
quiet  and  honest  to  the  end  of  my  lifetime. 

First  Sailor.  We  are  out  since  the  new  moon. 
What  is  worse  again,  it  is  the  way  we  are  in  a  ship, 
the  barrels  empty  and  my  throat  shrivelled  with 
drought,  and  nothing  to  quench  it  but  water  only. 

Forgael.  [In  his  sleep.]  Yes;  there,  there;  that 
hair  that  is  the  colour  of  burning. 

First  Sailor.  Listen  to  him  now,  calling  out  in 
his  sleep. 

Forgael.  [In  his  sleep.]  That  pale  forehead,  that 
hair  the  colour  of  burning. 

First  Sailor.  Some  crazy  dream  he  is  in,  and  be- 
lieve me  it  is  no  crazier  than  the  thought  he  has 
waking.  He  is  not  the  first  that  has  had  the  wits 
drawn  out  from  him  through  shadows  and  fantasies. 

Second  Sailor.  That  is  what  ails  him.  I  have 
been  thinking  it  this  good  while. 

First  Sailor.  Do  you  remember  that  galley  we 
sank  at  the  time  of  the  full  moon  ? 

Second  Sailor.  I  do.  We  were  becalmed  the 
same  night,  and  he  sat  up  there  playing  that  old 
harp  of  his  until  the  moon  had  set. 

First  Sailor.  I  was  sleeping  up  there  by  the  bul- 
wark, and  when  I  woke  in  the  sound  of  the  harp 
a  change  came  over  my  eyes,  and  I  could  see  very 
strange  things.  The  dead  were  floating  upon  the 
sea  yet,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  life  that  went  out 
of  every  one  of  them  had  turned  to  the  shape  of 


500  APPENDIX 

a  man-headed  bird  —  grey  they  were,  and  they 
rose  up  of  a  sudden  and  called  out  with  voices  like 
our  own,  and  flew  away  singing  to  the  west.  Words 
like  this  they  were  singing:  "Happiness  beyond 
measure,  happiness  where  the  sun  dies." 

Second  Sailor.  I  understand  well  what  they  are 
doing.  My  mother  used  to  be  talking  of  birds  of 
the  sort.  They  are  sent  by  the  lasting  watchers  to 
lead  men  away  from  this  world  and  its  women  to 
some  place  of  shining  women  that  cast  no  shadow, 
having  lived  before  the  making  of  the  earth.  But 
I  have  no  mind  to  go  following  him  to  that  place. 

First  Sailor.  Let  us  creep  up  to  him  and  kill  him 
in  his  sleep. 

Second  Sailor.  I  would  have  made  an  end  of  him 
long  ago,  but  that  I  was  in  dread  of  his  harp.  It  is 
said  that  when  he  plays  upon  it  he  has  power  over 
all  the  listeners,  with  or  without  the  body,  seen  or 
unseen,  and  any  man  that  listens  grows  to  be  as 
mad  as  himself. 

First  Sailor.  What  way  can  he  play  it,  being  in 
his  sleep  ? 

Second  Sailor.  But  who  would  be  our  Captain 
then  to  make  out  a  course  from  the  Bear  and  the 
Pole-star,  and  to  bring  us  back  home  ? 

First  Sailor.  I  have  that  thought  out.  We  must 
have  AIBRIC  with  us.  He  knows  the  constellations 
as  well  as  Forgael.  He  is  a  good  hand  with  the 
sword.  Join  with  us ;  be  our  Captain,  Aibric.  We 
are  agreed  to  put  an  end  to  Forgael,  before  he  wakes. 


APPENDIX  501 

There  is  no  man  but  will  be  glad  of  it  when  it  is 
done.  Join  with  us,  and  you  will  have  the  Captain's 
share  and  profit. 

Aibric.  Silence!  for  you  have  taken  Forgael's 
pay. 

First  Sailor.  Little  pay  we  have  had  this  twelve- 
month. We  would  never  have  turned  against  him 
if  he  had  brought  us,  as  he  promised,  into  seas  that 
would  be  thick  with  ships.  That  was  the  bargain. 
What  is  the  use  of  knocking  about  and  fighting 
as  we  do  unless  we  get  the  chance  to  drink  more 
wine  and  kiss  more  women  than  lasting  peaceable 
men  through  their  long  lifetime?  You  will  be  as 
good  a  leader  as  ever  he  was  himself,  if  you  will  but 
join  us. 

Aibric.   And  do  you  think  that  I  will  join  myself 
To  men  like  you,  and  murder  him  who  has  been 
My  master  from  my  earliest  childhood  up? 
No !  nor  to  a  world  of  men  like  you 
When  Forgael's  in  the  other  scale.    Come!   come! 
I'll  answer  to  more  purpose  when  you  have  drawn 
That  sword  out  of  its  scabbard. 

First  Sailor.  You  have  awaked  him.  We  had 
best  go,  for  we  have  missed  this  chance. 

Forgael.  Have   the   birds   passed   us?    I   could 

hear  your  voice. 
But  there  were  others. 

Aibric.   I  have  seen  nothing  pass. 

Forgael.  You  are  certain  of    it.    I  never  wake 
from  sleep 


502  APPENDIX 

But  that  I  am  afraid  they  may  have  passed. 

For   they're   my  only  pilots.    I   have    not    seen 

them 

For  many  days,  and  yet  there  must  be  many 
Dying  at  every  moment  in  the  world. 

Aibric.  They  have  all  but  driven  you  crazy,  and 

already 

The  sailors  have  been  plotting  for  your  death 
And  all  the  birds  have  cried  into  your  ears, 
Has  lured  you  on  to  death. 

Forgael.  No ;    but  they  promised  — 

Aibric.  I  know  their  promises.    You  have  told 

me  all. 

They  are  to  bring  you  to  unheard  of  passion, 
To  some  strange  love  the  world  knows  nothing  of. 
Some  ever-living  woman  as  you  think. 
One  that  can  cast  no  shadow,  being  unearthly. 
But  that's  all  folly.    Turn  the  ship  about, 
Sail  home  again,  be  some  fair  woman's  friend; 
Be  satisfied  to  live  like  other  men, 
And  drive  impossible  dreams  away.    The  world 
Has  beautiful  women  to  please  every  man. 

Forgael.   But  he  that  gets  their  love  after  the 

fashion 

Loves  in  brief  longing  and  deceiving  hope 
And  bodily  tenderness,  and  finds  that  even 
The  bed  of  love,  that  in  the  imagination 
Had  seemed  to  be  the  giver  of  all  peace, 
Is  no  more  than  a  wine  cup  in  the  tasting, 
And  as  soon  finished. 


APPENDIX  503 

Aibric.  All  that  ever  loved 

Have  loved  that  way  —  there  is  no  other  way. 

Forgael.  Yet  never  have  two  lovers  kissed  but  they 
Believed  there  was  some  other  near  at  hand, 
And  almost  wept  because  they  could  not  find  it. 

Aibric.   When  they  have  twenty  years ;  in  middle 

life 

They  take  a  kiss  for  what  a  kiss  is  worth, 
And  let  the  dream  go  by. 

Forgael.  It's  not  a  dream, 

But  the  reality  that  makes  our  passion 
As  a  lamp  shadow  —  no  —  no  lamp,  the  sun. 
What  the  world's  million  lips  are  thirsting  for, 
Must  be  substantial  somewhere. 

Aibric.  I  have  heard  the  Druids 

Mutter  such  things  as  they  awake  from  trance. 
It  may  be  that  the  dead  have  lit  upon  it, 
Or  those  that  never  lived,  no  mortal  can. 

Forgael.   I  only  of  all  living  men  shall  find  it. 

Aibric.  Then  seek  it  in  the  habitable  world, 
Or  leap  into  that  sea  and  end  a  journey 
That  has  no  other  end. 

Forgael.   I  cannot  answer. 
I  can  see  nothing  plain ;  all's  mystery. 
Yet,  sometimes  there's  a  torch  inside  my  head 
That  makes  all  clear,  but  when  the  light  is  gone 
I  have  but  images,  analogies, 
The  mystic  bread,  the  sacramental  wine, 
The  red  rose  where  the  two  shafts  of  the  cross, 
Body  and  soul,  waking  and  sleep,  death,  life, 


504  APPENDIX 

Whatever  meaning  ancient  allegorists 

Have  settled  on,  are  mixed  into  one  joy. 

For  what's  the  rose  but  that;  miraculous  cries, 

Old  stories  about  mystic  marriages, 

Impossible  truths.     But  when  the  torch  is  lit 

All  that  is  impossible  is  certain, 

I  plunge  in  the  abyss. 

[SAILORS  come  in.] 

First  Sailor.  Look  there !  There  in  the  mist ! 
A  ship  of  spices. 

Second  Sailor.  We  would  not  have  noticed  her 
but  for  the  sweet  smell  through  the  air.  Amber- 
gris and  sandalwood,  and  all  the  herbs  the  witches 
bring  from  the  sunrise. 

First  Sailor.   No;   but  opoponax  and  cinnamon. 

Forgael.  [Taking  the  tiller  from  Aibric.]  The  ever- 
living  have  kept  my  bargain  for  me,  and  paid  you  on 
the  nail. 

Aibric.  Take  up  that  rope  to  make  her  fast  while 
we  are  plundering  her. 

First  Sailor.  There  is  a  king  on  her  deck,  and  a 
queen.  Where  there  is  one  woman  it  is  certain 
there  will  be  others. 

Aibric.   Speak  lower  or  they'll  hear. 

First  Sailor.  They  cannot  hear;  they  are  too 
much  taken  up  with  one  another.  Look!  he  has 
stooped  down  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 

Second  Sailor.  When  she  finds  out  we  have  as 
good  men  aboard  she  may  not  be  too  sorry  in  the 
end. 


APPENDIX 


505 


First  Sailor.  She  will  be  as  dangerous  as  a  wild 
cat.  These  queens  think  more  of  the  riches  and 
the  great  name  they  get  by  marriage  than  of  a 
ready  hand  and  a  strong  body. 

Second  Sailor.  There  is  nobody  is  natural  but  a 
robber.  That  is  the  reason  the  whole  world  goes 
tottering  about  upon  its  bandy  legs. 

Aibric.  Run  at  them  now,  and  overpower  the 
crew  while  yet  asleep. 

[SAILORS  and  AIBRIC  go  out.  The  clashing  of 
swords  and  confused  voices  are  heard  from 
the  other  ship,  which  cannot  be  seen  because  of 
the  sail.] 

Forgael.  [Who  has  remained  at  the  tiller.]  There ! 
There! 

They  come  !     Gull,  gannet,  or  diver, 
But  with  a  man's  head,  or  a  fair  woman's. 
They  hover  over  the  masthead  awhile 
To  wait  their  friends,  but  when  their  friends  have 

come 

They'll  fly  upon  that  secret  way  of  theirs, 
One  —  and  one  —  a  couple  —  five  together. 
And  now  they  all  wheel  suddenly  and  fly 
To  the  other  side,  and  higher  in  the  air, 
They've  gone  up  thither,  friend's  run  up  by  friend. 
They've  gone  to  their  beloved  in  the  air, 
In  the  waste  of  the  high  air,  that  they  may  wander 
Among  the  windy  meadows  of  the  dawn. 
But  why  are  they  still  waiting  ?    Why  are  they 
Circling  and  circling  over  the  masthead  ? 


506  APPENDIX 

Ah !  now  they  all  look  down  —  they'll  speak  of  me 

What  the  ever-living  put  into  their  minds, 

And  of  that  shadowless  unearthly  woman 

At  the  world's  end.     I  hear  the  message  now. 

But  it's  all  mystery.     There's  one  that  cries, 

"From  love  and  hate."     Before  the  sentence  ends 

Another  breaks  upon  it  with  a  cry, 

"  From  love  and  death  and  out  of  sleep  and  waking." 

And  with  the  cry  another  cry  is  mixed, 

"What  can  we  do  being  shadows?"    All  mystery, 

And  I  am  drunken  with  a  dizzy  light. 

But  why  do  they  still  hover  overhead  ? 

Why  are  you  circling  there?    Why  do  you  linger? 

Why  do  you  not  run  to  your  desire  ? 

Now  that  you  have  happy  winged  bodies. 

Being  too  busy  in  the  air,  and  the  high  air, 

They  cannot  hear  my  voice.  But  why  that  circling  ? 
[The  SAILORS  have  returned.  DECTORA  is  with 
them.  She  is  dressed  in  pale  green,  with 
copper  ornaments  on  her  dress,  and  has  a 
copper  crown  upon  her  head.  Her  hair  is 
dull  red.] 

Forgael.    [Turning  and  seeing  her.]    Why  are  you 
standing  with  your  eyes  upon  me  ? 

You  are  not  the  world's  core.     O  no,  no,  no  ! 

That  cannot  be  the  meaning  of  the  birds. 

You  are  not  its  core.     My  teeth  are  in  the  world, 

But  have  not  bitten  yet. 

Dectora.  I  am  a  queen, 

And  ask  for  satisfaction  upon  these 


APPENDIX  507 

Who  have  slain  my  husband  and  laid  hands  upon  me. 

ForgaeL   I'd  set  my  hopes  on  one  that  had  no 

shadow,  — 
Where  do  you  come  from  ?  who  brought  you  to  this 

place? 
Why  do  you  cast  a  shadow  ?    Answer  me  that. 

Dectora.   Would  that  the  storm  that  overthrew 

my  ships, 

And  drowned  the  treasures  of  nine  conquered  nations, 
And  blew  me  hither  to  my  lasting  sorrow, 
Had  drowned  me  also.     But,  being  yet  alive, 
I  ask  a  fitting  punishment  for  all 
That  raised  their  hands  against  him. 

ForgaeL  There  are  some 

That  weigh  and  measure  all  in  these  waste  seas  — 
They  that  have  all  the  wisdom  that's  in  life, 
And  all  that  prophesying  images 
Made  of  dim  gold  rave  out  in  secret  tombs ; 
They  have  it  that  the  plans  of  kings  and  queens 
Are  dust  on  the  moth's  wing;  that  nothing  matters 
But  laughter  and  tears  —  laughter,  laughter,  and 

tears 

That  every  man  should  carry  his  own  soul 
Upon  his  shoulders. 

Dectora.  You've  nothing  but  wild  words, 

And  I  would  know  if  you  would  give  me  ven- 
geance. 

ForgaeL  When  she  finds  out  that  I  will  not  let 

her  go  — 
When  she  knows  that. 


508  APPENDIX 

Dedora.  What  is  it  that  you  are  mut- 

tering — 
That  you'll  not  let  me  go?    I  am  a  queen. 

Forgael.   Although  you  are  more  beautiful    than 

any, 

I  almost  long  that  it  were  possible ; 
But  if  I  were  to  put  you  on  that  ship, 
With  sailors  that  were  sworn  to  do  your  will, 
And  you  had  spread  a  sail  for  home,  a  wind 
Would  rise  of  a  sudden,  or  a  wave  so  huge, 
It  had  washed  among  the  stars  and  put    them 

out, 

And  beat  the  bulwark  of  your  ship  on  mine, 
Until  you  stood  before  me  on  the  deck  — 
As  now. 

Dedora.         Does  wandering  in  these  desolate 

seas 

And  listening  to  the  cry  of  wind  and  wave 
Bring  madness? 

Forgael.  Queen,  I  am  not  mad. 

Dectora.  And  yet  you   say  the  water  and  the 

wind 
Would  rise  against  me. 

Forgael.  No,  I  am  not  mad  — 

If  it  be  not  that  hearing  messages 
From  lasting  watchers  that  outlive  the  moon, 
At  the  most  quiet  midnight  is  to  be  stricken. 

Dectora.   And  did  those  watchers  bid  you  take 
me  captive  ? 

Forgael.  Both  you  and  I  are  taken  in  the  net. 


APPENDIX  509 

It' was  their  hands  that  plucked  the  winds  awake 
And  blew  you  hither ;  and  their  mouths  have  prom- 
ised 

I  shall  have  love  in  their  immortal  fashion. 
They  gave  me  that  old  harp  of  the  nine  spells 
That  is  more  mighty  than  the  sun  and  moon, 
Or  than  the  shivering  casting-net  of  the  stars, 
That  none  might  take  you  from  me. 

Dectora.     [First  trembling  back  from  the  mast  where 
the  harp  is,  and  then  laughing.] 
For  a  moment 

Your  raving  of  a  message  and  a  harp 
More  mighty  than  the  stars  half  troubled  me. 
But  all  that's  raving.     Who  is  there  can  compel 
The  daughter  and  grand-daughter  of  kings 
To  be  his  bedfellow  ? 

Forgael.  Until  your  lips 

Have  called  me  their  beloved,  I'll  not  kiss  them. 

Dectora.   My  husband  and  my  king  died  at  my 

feet, 
And  yet  you  talk  of  love. 

Forgael.  The  movement  of  time 

Is  shaken  in  these  seas,  and  what  one  does 
One  moment  has  no  might  upon  the  moment 
That  follows  after. 

Dectora.  I  understand  you  now. 

You  have  a  Druid  craft  of  wicked  sound. 
Wrung  from  the  cold  women  of  the  sea  — 
A  magic  that  can  call  a  demon  up. 
Until  my  body  give  you  kiss  for  kiss. 


510  APPENDIX 

Forgael.   Your  soul  shall  give  the  kiss. 
Dectora.  I  am  not  afraid, 

While  there's  a  rope  to  run  into  a  noose 
Or  wave  to  drown.     But  I  have  done  with  words, 
And  I  would  have  you  look  into  my  face 
And  know  that  it  is  fearless. 

Forgael.  Do  what  you  will, 

For  neither  I  nor  you  can  break  a  mesh 
Of  the  great  golden  net  that  is  about  us. 

Dectora.   There's    nothing    in    the    world    that's 

worth  a  fear. 
[She  passes  FORGAEL  and  stands  for  a  moment 

looking  into  his  face.] 
I  have  good  reason  for  that  thought. 

[She  runs  suddenly  on  to  the  raised  part  of  the 
poop.] 

And  now 
I  can  put  fear  away  as  a  queen  should. 

[She  mounts  on  the  bulwark  and  turns  towards 

FORGAEL.] 

Fool,  fool !    Although  you  have  looked  into  my  face 
You  did  not  see  my  purpose.     I  shall  have  gone 
Before  a  hand  can  touch  me. 

Forgael.  [Folding  his  arms.]      My  hands  are  still ; 
The  ever-living  hold  us.     Do  what  you  will, 
You  cannot  leap  out  of  the  golden  net. 

First  Sailor.  There  is  no  need  for  you  to  drown. 
Give  us  our  pardon  and  we  will  bring  you  home  on 
your  own  ship,  and  make  an  end  of  this  man  that  is 
leading  us  to  death. 


APPENDIX  511 

Dectora.   I  promise  it. 

Aibric.  I  am  on  his  side. 
I'd  strike  a  blow  for  him  to  give  him  time 
To  cast  his  dreams  away. 

First  Sailor.  He  has  put  a  sudden  darkness  over 
the  moon. 

Dectora.   Nine  swords  with  handles  of  rhinoceros 

horn 
To  him  that  strikes  him  first. 

First  Sailor.  I  will  strike  him  first.  No !  for 
that  music  of  his  might  put  a  beast's  head  upon  my 
shoulders,  or  it  may  be  two  heads  and  they  devour- 
ing one  another. 

Dectora.   I'll  give  a  golden  galley  full  of  fruit 
That  has  the  heady  flavour  of  new  wine 
To  him  that  wounds  him  to  the  death. 

Second  Sailor.  I'll  strike  at  him.  His  spells  will 
die  with  him  and  vanish  away. 

Second  Sailor.   I'll  strike  at  him. 

The  Others.  And  I !     And  I !     And  I! 

First  Sailor.  [Falling  into  a  dream.]  It  is  what 
they  are  saying,'  there  is  some  person  dead  in  the 
other  ship;  we  have  to  go  and  wake  him.  They 
did  not  say  what  way  he  came  to  his  end,  but  it  was 
sudden. 

Second  Sailor.  You  are  right,  you  are  right.  We 
have  to  go  to  that  wake. 

Dectora.  He  has  flung  a  Druid  spell  upon  the  air, 
And  set  you  dreaming. 


512 


APPENDIX 


Second  Sailor.  What  way  can  we  raise  a  keen, 
not  knowing  what  name  to  call  him  by  ? 

First  Sailor.  Come  on  to  his  ship.  His  name  will 
come  to  mind  in  a  moment.  All  I  know  is  he  died 
a  thousand  years  ago,  and  was  never  yet  waked. 

Second  Sailor.  How  can  we  wake  him  having 
no  ale? 

First  Sailor.  I  saw  a  skin  of  ale  aboard  her  —  a 
pigskin  of  brown  ale. 

Third  Sailor.  Come  to  the  ale,  a  pigskin  of  brown 
ale,  a  goatskin  of  yellow. 

First  Sailor.  [Singing.]  Brown  ale  and  yellow; 
yellow  and  brown  ale ;  a  goatskin  of  yellow. 

All.  [Singing.]  Brown  ale  and  yellow;  yellow 
and  brown  ale ! 

[SAILORS  go  out.] 

Dectora.  Protect  me  now,  gods,  that  my  people 
swear  by. 

[AiBRic  has  risen  from  the  ground  where  he  had 
fallen.    He  has  begun  looking  for  his  sword 
as  if  in  a  dream.] 
Aibric.  Where  is  my  sword  that  fell  out  of  my 

hand 
When  I  first  heard  the  news  ?    Ah,  there  it  is  ! 

[He  goes  dreamily  towards  the  sword,  but  DECTORA 
runs  at  it  and  takes  it  up  before  he  can  reach  it.] 
Aibric.     [Sleepily.]  Queen,  give  it  me. 
Dectora.  No,  I  have  need  of  it. 

Aibric.  Why  do  you  need  a  sword  ?  But  you  may 
keep  it, 


APPENDIX 


513 


Now  that  he's  dead  I  have  no  need  of  it, 
For  everything  is  gone. 

A  SAILOR.     [Calling  from  the  other  ship.] 

Come  hither,  Aibric, 
And  tell  me  who  it  is  that  we  are  waking. 

Aibric.     [Half  to  DECTORA,  half  to  himself.] 
What  name  had  that  dead  king  ?    Arthur  of  Britain  ? 
Xo,  no  —  not  Arthur.     I  remember  now. 
It  was  golden-armed  lollan,  and  he  died 
Brokenhearted,  having  lost  his  queen 
Through  wicked  spells.     That  is  not  all  the  tale, 
For  he  was  killed.    O!0!0!O!0!0! 
For  golden-armed  lollan  has  been  killed. 

[He  goes  out.     While  he  has  been  speaking,  and 

through  part  of  what   follows,  one   hears  the 

singing  of  the  SAILORS  from  the  other  ship. 

DECTORA  stands  with  the  sword  lifted  in  front 

of  FORGAEL.] 

Dectora.   I  will  end  all  your  magic  on  the  instant. 
[Her  voice  becomes  dreamy,  and  she  lowers  the 

sword  slowly,   and  finally   lets   it  fall.     She 

spreads  out  her  hair.     She  takes  off  her  crown 

and  lays  it  upon  the  deck.] 
The  sword  is  to  lie  beside  him  in  the  grave. 
It  was  in  all  his  battles.     I  will  spread  my  hair, 
And  wring  my  hands,  and  wail  him  bitterly, 
For  I  have  heard  that  he  was  proud  and  laughing, 
Blue-eyed,  and  a  quick  runner  on  bare  feet, 
And  that  he  died  a  thousand  years  ago. 
0!  0!  0! 

VOL.  II.  — 2L 


514  APPENDIX 

[FORGAEL  changes  the  tune.] 

But  no,  that  is  not  it. 

I  knew  him  well,  and  while  I  heard  him  laughing 
They  killed  him  at  my  feet.    O !  O !  O !  0 ! 
For  golden-armed  lollan  that  I  loved. 
But  what  is  it  that  made  me  say  I  loved  him  ? 
It  was  that  harper  put  it  in  my  thoughts, 
But  it  is  true.     Why  did  they  run  upon  him, 
And  beat  the  golden  helmet  with  their  swords  ? 

Forgael.  Do  you  not  know  me,  lady?    I  am  he 
That  you  are  weeping  for. 

Dectora.  No,  for  he  is  dead. 

O  !  O  !  O  !  for  golden-armed  lollan. 

Forgael.   It  was  so  given  out,  but  I  will  prove 
That  the  grave-diggers  in  a  dreamy  frenzy 
Have  buried  nothing  but  my  golden  arms. 
Listen  to  that  low-laughing  string  of  the  moon 
And  you  will  recollect  my  face  and  voice, 
For  you  have  listened  to  me  playing  it 
These  thousand  years. 

[He  starts  up,  listening  to  the  birds.  The  harp 
slips  from  his  hands,  and  remains  leaning 
against  the  bulwarks  behind  him.  The  light 
goes  out  of  it.] 

What  are  the  birds  at  there  ? 
Why  are  they  all  a-flutter  of  a  sudden  ? 
What  are  you  calling  out  above  the  mast  ? 
If  railing  and  reproach  and  mockery 
Because  I  have  awakened  her  to  love 
My  magic  strings,  I'll  make  this  answer  to  it : 


APPENDIX 


515 


Being  driven  on  by  voices  and  by  dreams 
That  were  clear  messages  from  the  ever-living, 
I  have  done  right.     What  could  I  but  obey  ? 
And  yet  you  make  a  clamour  of  reproach. 

Dectora.     [Laughing.]    Why,  it's  a  wonder  out  of 

reckoning 

That  I  should  keen  him  from  the  full  of  the  moon 
To  the  horn,  and  he  be  hale  and  hearty. 

Forgael.   How  have  I  wronged  her  now  that  she 

is  merry  ? 

But  no,  no,  no !  your  cry  is  not  against  me. 
You  know  the  councils  of  the  ever-living, 
And  all  the  tossing  of  your  wings  is  joy, 
And  all  that  murmuring's  but  a  marriage  song; 
But  if  it  be  reproach,  I  answer  this : 
There  is  not  one  among  you  that  made  love 
By  any  other  means.     You  call  it  passion, 
Consideration,  generosity  ; 
But  it  was  all  deceit,  and  flattery 
To  win  a  woman  in  her  own  despite, 
For  love  is  war,  and  there  is  hatred  in  it ; 
And  if  you  say  that  she  came  willingly  — 

Dectora.  Why  do  you  turn  away  and  hide  your  face, 
That  I  would  look  upon  for  ever  ? 

Forgael.  My  grief. 

Dectora.  Have  I  not  loved  you  for  a  thousand 
years  ? 

Forgael.   I  never  have  been  golden-armed  lollan 

Dectora.   I  do  not  understand.     I  know  your  face 
Better  than  my  own  hands. 


516  APPENDIX 

Forgael.  I  have  deceived  you 

Out  of  all  reckoning, 

Dectora.  Is  it  not  true 

That  you  were  born  a  thousand  years  ago, 
In  islands  where  the  children  of  ^Engus  wind 
In  happy  dances  under  a  windy  moon, 
And  that  you'll  bring  me  there  ? 

Forgael.  I  have  deceived  you ; 

I  have  deceived  you  utterly. 

Dectora.  How  can  that  be  ? 

Is  it  that  though  your  eyes  are  full  of  love 
Some  other  woman  has  a  claim  on  you, 
And  I've  but  half? 

Forgael.  Oh,  no ! 

Dectora.  And  if  there  is, 

If  there  be  half  a  hundred  more,  what  matter  ? 
Ill  never  give  another  thought  to  it; 
No,  no,  nor  half  a  thought ;  but  do  not  speak. 
Women  are  hard  and  proud  and  stubborn-hearted, 
Their  heads  being  turned  with  praise  and  flattery; 
And  that  is  why  their  lovers  are  afraid 
To  tell  them  a  plain  story. 

Forgael.  That's  not  the  story; 

But  I  have  done  so  great  a  wrong  against  you, 
There  is  no  measure  that  it  would  not  burst. 
I  will  confess  it  all. 

Dectora.  What  do  I  care, 

Now  that  my  body  has  begun  to  dream, 
And  you  have  grown  to  be  a  burning  coal 
In  the  imagination  and  intellect  ? 


APPENDIX  517 

If  something  that's  most  fabulous  were  true  — 

If  you  had  taken  me  by  magic  spells, 

And  killed  a  lover  or  husband  at  my  feet  — 

I  would  not  let  you  speak,  for  I  would  know 

That  it  was  yesterday  and  not  to-day 

I  loved  him ;  I  would  cover  up  my  ears, 

As  I  am  doing  now.     [A  pause.]    Why  do  you  weep  ? 

Forgael.   I  weep  because  I  Ye  nothing  for  your  eyes 
But  desolate  waters  and  a  battered  ship. 

Dectora.   O,  why  do  you  not  lift  your  eyes  to  mine  ? 

Forgael.   I  weep  —  I  weep  because  bare  night's 

above, 
And  not  a  roof  of  ivory  and  gold. 

Dectora.   I  would  grow  jealous  of  the  ivory  roof, 
And  strike  the  golden  pillars  with  my  hands. 
I  would  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  world 
But  my  beloved  —  that  night  and  day  had  perished, 
And  all  that  is  and  all  that  is  to  be, 
All  that  is  not  the  meeting  of  our  lips. 

Forgael.  Why  do  you  turn  your  eyes  upon  bare 

night  ? 

Am  I  to  fear  the  waves,  or  is  the  moon 
My  enemy  ? 

Dectora.        I  looked  upon  the  moon, 
Longing  to  knead  and  pull  it  into  shape 
That  I  might  lay  it  on  your  head  as  a  crown. 
But  now  it  is  your  thoughts  that  wander  away, 
For  you  are  looking  at  the  sea.     Do  you  not  know 
How  great  a  wrong  it  is  to  let  one's  thought 
Wander  a  moment  when  one  is  in  love  ? 


518  APPENDIX 

[He  has  moved  away.     She  follows  him.    He  is 

looking  out  over  the  sea,  shading  his  eyes.] 
Dectora.   Why  are  you  looking  at  the  sea  ? 
Forgael.  Look  there  ' 

There  where  the  cloud  creeps  up  upon  the  moon. 
Dectora.  What  is  there  but  a  troop  of  ash-grey 

birds 
That  fly  into  the  west? 

[The  scene  darkens,  but  there  is  a  ray  of  light  upon 

the  figures.] 

Forgael.  But  listen,  listen  ! 

Dectora.   What  is  there  but  the  crying  of  the  birds '( 
Forgael.   If  you'll  but  listen  closely  to  that  crying 
You'll  hear  them  calling  out  to  one  another 
With  human  voices. 

Dectora.  Clouds  have  hid  the  moon. 

The  birds  cry  out,  what  can  I  do  but  tremble  ? 
Forgael.  They  have  been  circling  over  our  heads 

in  the  air, 

But  now  that  they  have  taken  to  the  road 
We  have  to  follow,  for  they  are  our  pilots ; 
They're  crying  out.     Can  you  not  hear  their  cry  — 
"There  is  a  country  at  the  end  of  the  world 
Where  no  child's  born  but  to  outlive  the  moon." 
[The  SAILORS  come  in  with  AIBRIC.     They  carry 

torches.] 
Aibric.  We  have  lit  upon   a  treasure  that's  so 

great 

Imagination  cannot  reckon  it. 
The  hold  is  full  —  boxes  of  precious  spice, 


APPENDIX  519 

Ivory  images  with  amethyst  eyes, 

Dragons  with  eyes  of  ruby.    The  whole  ship 

Flashes  as  if  it  were  a  net  of  herrings. 

Let  us  return  to  our  own  country,  Forgael, 

And  spend  it  there.    Have    you  not  found   this 

queen  ? 
What  more  have  you  to  look  for  on  the  seas  ? 

Forgael.   I  cannot  —  I  am  going  on  to  the  end. 
As  for  this  woman,  I  think  she   is  coming  with 
me. 

Aibric.  Speak  to  him,  lady,  and  bid  him  turn 

the  ship. 

He  knows  that  he  is  taking  you  to  death ; 
He  cannot  contradict  me. 

Dectora.  Is  that  true  ? 

Forgael.   I  do  not  know  for  certain. 

Dectora.  Carry  me 

To  some  sure  country,  some  familiar  place. 
Have  we  not  everything  that  life  can  give 
In  having  one  another  ? 

Forgael.  How  could  I  rest 

If  I  refused  the  messengers  and  pilots 
With  all  those  sights  and  all  that  crying  out  ? 

Dectora.   I  am  a  woman,  I  die  at  every  breath. 

Aibric.   [To  the  SAILORS.]  To  the  other  ship,  for 

there's  no  help  in  words, 
And  I  will  follow  you  and  cut  the  rope 
When  I  have  said  farewell  to  this  man  here, 
For  neither  I  nor  any  living  man 
Will  look  upon  his  face  again. 


520  APPENDIX 

[SAILORS  go  out,  leaving  one  torch  perhaps  in  a 
torchholder  on  the  bulwark.] 

Forgael.   [To  DECTORA.]  Go  with  him, 
For  he  will  shelter  you  and  bring  you  home. 

Aibric.     [Taking  FORGAEL'S  hand.]    I'll  do  it  for 
his  sake. 

Dectora.  No.    Take  this  sword 
And  cut  the  rope,  for  I  go  on  with  Forgael. 

Aibric.   Farewell!   Farewell!  [He  goes  out.] 

Dectora.   The  sword  is  in  the  rope  — 
The  rope's  in  two  —  it  falls  into  the  sea, 
It  whirls  into  the  foam.     O  ancient  worm, 
Dragon  that  loved  the  world  and  held  us  to  it, 
You  are  broken,  you  are  broken.    The  world  drifts 

away, 

And  I  am  left  alone  with  my  beloved, 
Who  cannot  put  me  from  his  sight  for  ever. 
We  are  alone  for  ever,  and  I  laugh, 
Forgael,  because  you  cannot  put  me  from  you. 
The  mist  has  covered  the  heavens,  and  you  and  I 
Shall  be  alone  for  ever.    We  two  —  this  crown  — 
I  half  remember.     It  has  been  in  my  dreams. 
Bend  lower,  O  king,  that  I  may  crown  you  with  it. 
O  flower  of  the  branch,  O  bird  among  the  leaves, 
O  silver  fish  that  my  two  hands  have  taken 
Out  of  the  running  stream,  O  morning  star, 
Trembling  in  the  blue  heavens  like  a  white  fawn 
Upon  the  misty  border  of  the  wood, 
Bend  lower,  that  I  may  cover  you  with  my  hair, 
For  we  will  gaze  upon  this  world  no  longer. 


APPENDIX  521 

[The  harp  begins  to  burn  as  with  fire.] 
Forgael.     [Gathering  DECTORA'S  hair  about  him.\ 

Beloved,  having  dragged  the  net  about  us, 
And  knitted  mesh  to  mesh,  we  grow  immortal; 
And  that  old  harp  awakens  of  itself 
To  cry  aloud  to  the  grey  birds,  and  dreams, 
That  have  had  dreams  for  fathers,  live  in  us. 

[Curtain.} 


APPENDIX  IV 

THE  WORK  OF  THE  NATIONAL  THEATRE 
SOCIETY  AT  THE  ABBEY  THEATRE, 
DUBLIN :  A  STATEMENT  OF  PRINCIPLES 


THE  most  obvious  difference  between  our  modern 
literature  which  belongs  to  a  cultivated  class,  and 
ancient  literature  which  belonged  to  a  whole  people, 
is  that  the  three  great  forms  of  ancient  literature, 
narrative,  lyrical,  and  dramatic,  found  their  way  to 
men's  minds  without  the  mediation  of  print  and 
paper.  When  I  first  began  working  in  Ireland  at 
what  some  newspaper  has  called  the  Celtic  Renais- 
sance, I  saw  that  we  had  still  even  in  English  a  suf- 
ficient audience  for  song  and  speech.  Certain  of  our 
young  men  and  women,  too  restless  and  sociable  to 
be  readers,  had  amongst  them  an  interest  in  Irish  le- 
gend and  history,  and  years  of  imaginative  politics 
had  kept  them  from  forgetting,  as  most  modern 
people  have,  how  to  listen  to  serious  words.  I 
always  saw  that  some  kind  of  theatre  would  be  a 
natural  centre  for  a  tradition  of  feeling  and  thought, 
but  that  it  must  —  and  this  was  its  chief  opportu- 
nity —  appeal  to  the  interest  appealed  to  by  lively 
conversation  or  by  oratory.  These  young  people  are 


APPENDIX  523 

not,  perhaps,  very  numerous,  for  they  do  not  in- 
clude the  thousands  of  conquered  spirits  who  in 
Dublin,  as  elsewhere,  go  to  see  the  "  Girl  from  Kay's," 
or  when  Mr.  Tree  is  upon  tour  the  "  Girl  from  Pros- 
pero's  Island";  and  the  peasant  in  Ireland,  as 
elsewhere,  has  not  taken  to  the  theatre,  and  can, 
I  think,  be  moved  through  Gaelic  only. 

If  one  could  get  them,  I  thought,  one  could  draw 
to  oneself  the  apathetic  people  who  are  in  every 
country,  and  people  who  don't  know  what  they  like 
till  somebody  tells  them.  Xow  a  friend  has  given 
me  that  theatre.  It  is  not  very  big,  but  it  is  quite 
big  enough  to  seat  those  few  thousands  and  their 
friends  in  a  seven  days'  run  of  a  new  play;  and  I 
have  begun  my  real  business.  I  have  to  find  once 
again  singers,  minstrels,  and  players  who  love  words 
more  than  any  other  thing  under  heaven,  for  with- 
out fine  words  there  is  no  literature.  I  have  to 
create  a  theatre  of  speech,  of  romance,  of  extrava- 
gance. In  every  art,  when  it  seems  to  one  that  it 
has  need  of  a  renewing  of  life,  one  goes  backwards  till 
one  lights  upon  a  time  when  it  was  nearer  to  human 
life  and  instinct,  before  it  had  gathered  about  it 
so  many  mechanical  specialisations  and  traditions. 
One  examines  that  earlier  condition  and  thinks  out 
its  principles  of  life,  that  one  may  be  able  to  separate 
accidental  from  vital  things.  William  Morris,  for 
instance,  studied  the  earliest  printing,  the  fonts 
of  type  that  were  made  when  men  saw  their  craft 
with  eyes  that  were  still  new,  and  at  leisure,  and 


524  APPENDIX 

without  the  restraints  of  commerce  and  custom. 
And  then  he  made  a  type  that  was  really  new,  that 
had  the  quality  of  his  own  mind  about  it,  though  it 
reminds  one  of  its  ancestry,  of  its  high  breeding  as 
it  were.  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth  were  influenced 
by  the  publication  of  Percy's  "Reliques"  to  the 
making  of  a  simplicity  altogether  unlike  that  of 
old  ballad  writers.  Rossetti  went  to  early  Italian 
painting,  to  Holy  Families  and  choirs  of  angels, 
that  he  might  learn  how  to  express  an  emotion  that 
had  its  roots  in  sexual  desire  and  in  the  delight  of 
his  generation  in  fine  clothes  and  in  beautiful  rooms. 
Nor  is  it  otherwise  with  the  reformers  of  churches 
and  of  the  social  order,  for  reform  must  justify  itself 
by  a  return  in  feeling  to  something  that  our  fathers 
have  told  us  in  the  old  time. 

So  it  is  with  us ;  inspired  by  players  who  played 
before  a  figured  curtain,  we  have  made  scenery, 
indeed,  but  scenery  that  is  little  more  than  a  sug- 
gestion —  a  pattern  with  recurring  boughs  and  leaves 
of  gold  for  a  wood,  a  great  green  curtain  with  a  red 
stencil  upon  it  to  carry  the  eye  upward  for  a  palace, 
and  so  on.  More  important  than  these,  we  have 
looked  for  the  centre  of  our  art  where  the  players 
of  the  time  of  Shakespeare  and  of  Corneille  found 
theirs,  in  speech,  whether  it  be  the  perfect  mimicry 
of  the  conversation  of  two  countrymen  of  the  roads, 
or  that  idealised  speech  poets  have  imagined  for 
what  we  think  but  do  not  say.  Before  men  read, 
the  ear  and  the  tongue  were  subtle,  and  delighted 


APPENDIX  525 

one  another  with  the  little  tunes  that  were  in  words ; 
every  word  would  have  its  own  tune,  though  but 
one  main  note  may  have  been  marked  enough  for  us 
to  name  it.  They  loved  language,  and  all  literature 
was  then,  whether  in  the  mouth  of  minstrels,  players, 
or  singers,  but  the  perfection  of  an  art  that  every- 
body practised,  a  flower  out  of  the  stem  of  life.  And 
language  continually  renewed  itself  in  that  perfec- 
tion, returning  to  daily  life  out  of  that  finer  leisure, 
strengthened  and  sweetened  as  from  a  retreat 
ordered  by  religion.  The  ordinary  dramatic  critic, 
when  you  tell  him  that  a  play,  if  it  is  to  be  of  a 
great  kind,  must  have  beautiful  words,  will  answer 
that  you  have  misunderstood  the  nature  of  the 
stage  and  are  asking  of  it  what  books  should  give. 
Sometimes  when  some  excellent  man,  a  playgoer, 
certainly,  and  sometimes  a  critic,  has  read  me  a 
passage  out  of  some  poet,  I  have  been  set  wondering 
what  books  of  poetry  can  mean  to  the  greater  num- 
ber of  men.  If  they  are  to  read  poetry  at  all,  if 
they  are  to  enjoy  beautiful  rhythm,  if  they  are  to 
get  from  poetry  anything  but  what  it  has  in  com- 
mon with  prose,  they  must  hear  it  spoken  by  men 
who  have  music  in  their  voices  and  a  learned  under- 
standing of  its  sound.  There  is  no  poem  so  great 
that  a  fine  speaker  cannot  make  it  greater,  or  that 
a  bad  ear  cannot  make  it  nothing.  All  the  arts 
when  young  and  happy  are  but  the  point  of  the 
spear  whose  handle  is  our  daily  life.  When  they 
grow  old  and  unhappy,  they  perfect  themselves  away 


526  APPENDIX 

from  life,  and  life,  seeing  that  they  are  sufficient 
to  themselves,  forgets  them.  The  fruit  of  the  tree 
that  was  in  Eden  grows  out  of  a  flower  full  of  scent, 
rounds  and  ripens,  until  at  last  the  little  stem,  that 
brought  to  it  the  sap  out  of  the  tree,  dries  up  and 
breaks,  and  the  fruit  rots  upon  the  ground. 

The  theatre  grows  more  elaborate,  developing  the 
player  at  the  expense  of  the  poet,  developing  the 
scenery  at  the  expense  of  the  player,  always  increas- 
ing in  importance  whatever  has  come  to  it  out  of 
the  mere  mechanism  of  a  building  or  the  interests 
of  a  class,  specialising  more  and  more,  doing  what- 
ever is  easiest  rather  than  what  is  most  noble,  and 
creating  a  class  before  the  footlights  as  behind, 
who  are  stirred  to  excitements  that  belong  to  it  and 
not  to  life;  until  at  last  life,  which  knows  that  a 
specialised  energy  is  not  herself,  turns  to  other  things, 
content  to  leave  it  to  weaklings  and  triflers,  to  those 
in  whose  body  there  is  the  least  quantity  of  herself. 

II 

But  if  we  are  to  delight  our  three  or  four  thou- 
sand young  men  and  women  with  a  delight  that 
will  follow  them  into  their  own  houses,  and  if  we  are 
to  add  the  countryman  to  their  number,  we  shall 
need  more  than  the  play,  we  shall  need  those  other 
spoken  arts.  The  player  rose  into  importance  in 
the  town,  but  the  minstrel  is  of  the  country.  We 
must  have  narrative  as  well  as  dramatic  poetry, 
and  presently  we  shall  make  room  for  it  in  the 


APPENDIX  527 

theatre  in  the  first  instance ;  but  in  this  also  we 
must  go  to  an  earlier  time.  Modern  recitation  is  not, 
like  modern  theatrical  art,  an  overelaboration  of  a 
true  art,  but  an  entire  misunderstanding.  It  has 
no  tradition  at  all.  It  is  an  endeavour  to  do  what 
can  only  be  done  well  by  the  player.  It  has  no 
relation  of  its  own  to  life.  Some  young  man  in 
evening  clothes  will  recite  to  you  the  "Dream  of 
Eugene  Aram,"  and  it  will  be  laughable,  grotesque, 
and  a  little  vulgar.  Tragic  emotions  that  need 
scenic  illusion,  a  long  preparation,  a  gradual  height- 
ening of  emotion,  are  thrust  into  the  middle  of  our 
common  affairs.  That  they  may  be  as  extravagant, 
as  little  tempered  by  anything  ideal  or  distant  as 
possible,  he  will  break  up  the  rhythm,  regarding 
neither  the  length  of  the  lines  nor  the  natural 
music  of  the  phrases,  and  distort  the  accent  by 
every  casual  impulse.  He  will  gesticulate  wildly, 
adapting  his  movements  to  the  drama  as  if  Eugene 
Aram  were  in  the  room  before  us,  and  all  the  tune 
we  see  a  young  man  in  evening  dress  who  has  be- 
come unaccountably  insane.  Nothing  that  he  can 
do  or  say  will  make  us  forget  that  he  is  Mr.  Robin- 
son the  bank  clerk,  and  that  the  toes  of  his  boots 
turn  upward.  We  have  nothing  to  learn  here. 
We  must  go  to  the  villages  or  we  must  go  back  hun- 
dreds of  years  to  Wolfram  of  Eisenbach  and  the 
castles  of  Thuringia.  In  this,  as  in  all  other  arts, 
one  finds  its  law  and  its  true  purpose  when  one  is 
near  the  source.  The  minstrel  never  dramatised 


528  APPENDIX 

anybody  but  himself.  It  was  impossible,  from  the 
nature  of  the  words  the  poet  had  put  into  his  mouth, 
or  that  he  had  made  for  himself,  that  he  should 
speak  as  another  person.  He  will  go  no  nearer  to 
drama  than  we  do  in  daily  speech,  and  he  will  no*- 
allow  you  for  any  long  time  to  forget  himself. 
Our  own  Raftery  will  stop  the  tale  to  cry,  "This  k, 
what  I,  Raftery,  wrote  down  in  the  book  of  the 
people";  or  "I,  myself,  Raftery,  went  to  bed  with- 
out supper  that  night."  Or,  if  it  is  Wolfram,  and 
the  tale  is  of  Gawain  or  Parsival,  he  will  tell  the  lis- 
tening ladies  that  he  sings  of  happy  love  out  of  his 
own  unhappy  love,  or  he  will  interrupt  the  story  of 
a  siege  and  its  hardships  to  remember  his  own  house, 
where  there  is  not  enough  food  for  the  mice.  He 
knows  how  to  keep  himself  interesting  that  his 
words  may  have  weight ;  so  many  lines  of  narrative, 
and  then  a  phrase  about  himself  and  his  emotions. 
The  reciter  cannot  be  a  player,  for  that  is  a  different 
art;  but  he  must  be  a  messenger,  and  he  should 
be  as  interesting,  as  exciting,  as  are  all  that  carry 
great  news.  He  comes  from  off,  and  he  speaks 
of  far-off  things  with  his  own  peculiar  animation, 
and  instead  of  lessening  the  ideal  and  beautiful  ele- 
ments of  speech,  he  may,  if  he  has  a  mind  to,  in- 
crease them.  He  may  speak  to  actual  notes  as  a 
singer  does  if  they  are  so  simple  that  he  never  loses 
the  speaking  voice,  and  if  the  poem  is  long  he  must 
do  so,  or  his  own  voice  will  become  weary  and  form- 
less. His  art  is  nearer  to  pattern  than  that  of  the 


APPENDIX  529 

player.  It  is  always  allusion,  never  illusion;  for 
what  he  tells  of,  no  matter  how  impassioned  he  may 
become,  is  always  distant,  and  for  this  reason  he 
may  permit  himself  every  kind  of  nobleness.  In 
a  short  poem  he  may  interrupt  the  narrative  with 
a  burden,  which  the  audience  will  soon  learn  to 
sing,  and  this  burden,  because  it  is  repeated  and 
need  not  tell  a  story  to  a  first  hearing,  can  have 
a  more  elaborate  musical  notation,  can  go  nearer 
to  ordinary  song.  Gradually  other  devices  will 
occur  to  him,  —  effects  of  loudness  and  softness,  of 
increasing  and  decreasing  speed,  certain  rhythmic 
movements  of  his  body,  a  score  of  forgotten  things, 
for  the  art  of  speech  is  lost,  and  when  one  begins  at 
it  every  day  is  a  discovery.  The  reciter  must  be 
made  exciting  and  wonderful  in  himself,  apart  from 
what  he  has  to  tell,  and  that  is  more  difficult  than 
it  was  in  the  Middle  Ages.  We  are  not  mysterious 
to  one  another;  we  can  come  from  far  off  and  yet 
be  no  better  than  our  neighbours.  We  are  no  longer 
like  those  Egyptian  birds  that  flew  out  of  Arabia, 
their  claws  full  of  spices ;  nor  can  we,  like  an  ancient 
or  mediaeval  poet,  throw  into  our  verses  the  emo- 
tions and  events  of  our  lives,  or  even  dramatise, 
as  they  could,  the  life  of  the  minstrel  into  whose 
mouth  we  are  to  put  our  words.  I  can  think  of 
nothing  better  than  to  borrow  from  the  tellers  of 
old  tales,  who  will  often  pretend  to  have  been  at  the 
wedding  of  the  princess,  or  afterwards  "when  they 
were  throwing  out  children  by  the  basketful,"  and 

VOL.   II.  — 2  M 


530  APPENDIX 

to  give  the  story-teller  definite  fictitious  personality 
and  find  for  him  an  appropriate  costume.  Many 
costumes  and  persons  come  into  my  imagination. 
I  imagine  an  old  countryman  upon  the  stage  of 
the  theatre  or  in  some  little  country  court-house 
where  a  Gaelic  society  is  meeting,  and  I  can  hear 
him  say  that  he  is  Raftery  or  a  brother,  and  that 
he  has  tramped  through  France  and  Spain  and  the 
whole  world.  He  has  seen  everything,  and  he  has 
all  country  love  tales  at  his  finger  tips.  I  can  imag- 
ine, too,  —  and  now  the  story-teller  is  more  serious 
and  more  naked  of  country  circumstance,  —  a 
jester  with  black  cockscomb  and  black  clothes. 
He  has  been  in  the  faery  hills;  perhaps  he  is  the 
terrible  Amadan-na-Breena  himself;  or  he  has  been 
so  long  in  the  world  that  he  can  tell  of  ancient 
battles.  It  is  not  as  good  as  what  we  have  lost,  but 
we  cannot  hope  to  see  in  our  time,  except  by  some 
rare  accident,  the  minstrel  who  differs  from  his 
audience  in  nothing  but  the  exaltation  of  his  mood, 
and  who  is  yet  as  exciting  and  as  romantic  in  their 
eyes  as  were  Raftery  and  Wolfram  to  their  people. 
It  is  perhaps  nearly  impossible  to  make  recita- 
tion a  living  thing,  for  there  is  no  existing  taste  one 
can  appeal  to;  but  it  should  not  be  hard  here  in 
Ireland  to  interest  people  in  songs  that  are  made 
for  the  words'  sake  and  not  for  the  music,  or  for 
that  only  in  a  secondary  degree.  They  are  inter- 
ested in  such  songs  already,  only  the  songs  have 
little  subtilty  of  thought  and  of  language.  One 


APPENDIX  531 

does  not  find  in  them  that  modern  emotion  which 
seems  new  because  it  has  been  brought  so  very 
lately  out  of  the  cellar.  At  their  best  they  are  the 
songs  of  children  and  of  country  people,  eternally 
young  for  all  their  centuries,  and  yet  not  even  in 
old  days,  as  one  thinks,  the  art  of  king's  houses. 
We  require  a  method  of  setting  to  music  that  will 
make  it  possible  to  sing  or  to  speak  to  notes  a  poem 
like  Rossetti's  translation  of  "The  Ballad  of  Dead 
Ladies"  in  such  a  fashion  that  no  word  shall  have 
an  intonation  or  accentuation  it  could  not  have  in 
passionate  speech.  It  must  be  set  for  the  speak- 
ing voice,  like  the  songs  that  sailors  make  up  or 
remember,  and  a  man  at  the  far  end  of  the  room 
must  be  able  to  take  it  down  on  a  first  hearing.  An 
English  musical  paper  said  the  other  day,  in  com- 
menting on  something  I  had  written,  "Owing  to 
musical  necessities,  vowels  must  be  lengthened 
in  singing  to  an  extent  which  in  speech  would  be 
ludicrous  if  not  absolutely  impossible."  I  have 
but  one  art,  that  of  speech,  and  my  feeling  for  music 
dissociated  from  speech  is  very  slight,  and  listen- 
ing as  I  do  to  the  words  with  the  better  part  of  my 
attention,  there  is  no  modern  song  sung  in  the  mod- 
ern way  that  is  not  to  my  taste  "ludicrous"  and 
"impossible."  I  hear  with  older  ears  than  the 
musician,  and  the  songs  of  country  people  and  of 
sailors  delight  me.  I  wonder  why  the  musician  is 
not  content  to  set  to  music  some  arrangement  of 
meaningless  liquid  vowels,  and  thereby  to  make 


532  APPENDIX 

his  song  like  that  of  the  birds;  but  I  do  not  judge 
his  art  for  any  purpose  but  my  own.1  It  is  worthless 
for  my  purpose  certainly,  and  it  is  one  of  the  causes 
that  are  bringing  about  in  modern  countries  a 
degradation  of  language.  I  have  to  find  men  with 
more  music  than  I  have,  who  will  develop  to  a 
finer  subtilty  the  singing  of  the  cottage  and  the 
forecastle,  and  develop  it  more  on  the  side  of  speech 
than  that  of  music,  until  it  has  become  intellectual 
and  nervous  enough  to  be  the  vehicle  of  a  Shelley 
or  a  Keats.  For  some  purposes  it  will  be  necessary 
to  divine  the  lineaments  of  a  still  older  art,  and 
re-create  the  regulated  declamations  that  died  out 
when  music  fell  into  its  earliest  elaborations.  Miss 
Farr  has  divined  enough  of  this  older  art,  of  which 
no  fragment  has  come  down  to  us,  for  even  the  music 
of  Aucassin  and  Nicolette,  with  its  definite  tune,  its 
recurring  pattern  of  sound,  is  something  more  than 
declamation,  to  make  the  chorus  of  Hippolitus 
and  of  the  Trojan  Women,  at  the  Court  Theatre  or 
the  Lyric,  intelligible  speech,  even  when  several 

1 1  have  heard  musicians  excuse  themselves  by 
claiming  that  they  put  the  words  there  for  the  sake  of 
the  singer;  but  if  that  be  so,  why  should  not  the 
singer  sing  something  she  may  wish  to  have  by  rote  ? 
Nobody  will  hear  the  words;  and  the  local  time-table, 
or,  so  much  suet  and  so  many  raisins,  and  so  much 
spice  and  so  much  sugar,  and  whether  it  is  to  be  put 
in  a  quick  or  a  slow  oven,  would  run  very  nicely  with 
a  little  management. 


APPENDIX  533 

voices  spoke  together.  She  used  very  often  definite 
melodies  of  a  very  simple  kind,  but  always  when 
the  thought  became  intricate  and  the  measure 
grave  and  slow,  fell  back  upon  declamation  regu- 
lated by  notes.  Her  experiments  have  included 
almost  every  kind  of  verse,  and  every  possible  elab- 
oration of  sound  compatible  with  the  supremacy 
of  the  words.  I  do  not  think  Homer  is  ever  so 
moving  as  when  she  recites  him  to  a  little  tune 
played  on  a  stringed  instrument  not  very  unlike 
a  lyre.  She  began  at  my  suggestion  with  songs  in 
plays,  for  it  was  clearly  an  absurd  thing  that  words 
necessary  to  one's  understanding  of  the  action, 
either  because  they  explained  some  character,  or 
because  they  carried  some  emotion  to  its  highest 
intensity,  should  be  less  intelligible  than  the  bustling 
and  ruder  words  of  the  dialogue.  We  have  tried 
our  art,  since  we  first  tried  it  in  a  theatre,  upon 
many  kinds  of  audiences,  and  have  found  that  or- 
dinary men  and  women  take  pleasure  in  it  and  some- 
times tell  one  that  they  never  understood  poetry 
before.  It  is,  however,  more  difficult  to  move  those, 
fortunately  for  our  purpose  but  a  few,  whose  ears 
are  accustomed  to  the  abstract  emotion  and  elabo- 
ration of  notes  in  modern  music. 


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